


A Mile in My Shoes

by Neena



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, First Time, Genderswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 16:14:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3816775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neena/pseuds/Neena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A heated argument gives Xander and Buffy a chance to see things from a whole new perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an early story of mine. It's fluff and kind of cracky, but it was amazingly fun to write.

“Oh, please! Xander, if you think women have it easy then you don’t know the first thing about women!” Buffy was starting to get frustrated. They’d been arguing for half an hour now, and she was no closer to winning.

“Not only do women have it easier than men—you have it easier than other women. You’re like a woman with a side order of super-strength. Me, on the other hand—I’m just a guy with no super anything, which means everyone expects me to be all brave and macho, and I’m constantly getting my ass seriously kicked.” He gave Anya a glare and she stuck her tongue out at him.

Willow sighed, bored with the argument and wishing Anya would take Xander back, just so he’d stop moaning. Anya had just dumped him; this time because she was convinced he was going to die and she didn’t want to face the emotional consequences when it happened. And she was convinced he was going to die because he kept fighting along side Buffy when he really wasn’t very good at it. Xander didn’t take that very well, and he refused to quit the Scoobies, even though it meant she’d leave him.

So now they were clumped around a tiny table in The Bronze, listening to Xander bitch about women.

“So you think being me is a breeze?” Buffy said, her voice getting louder. “I would gladly trade places with you. I could use a holiday from the hell that is my life right now.”

“You’re on!” said Xander. “You have no idea how hard it is being me.”

“Fine, great,” said Willow, rolling her eyes. “You’re her and she’s you, and we’re all agreed that both your lives suck. Can we move on now, please? I’ve got to go home soon—I promised Tara I’d be home early so we could study.”

“Here here,” said Anya and exchanged a smile with Willow. It was one of the few times they’d ever agreed on anything.

“I’m willing to call it a draw,” said Buffy sportingly.

“So am I,” Xander jumped in. “Even though I know I’m right.” That started them going again, and it looked like there was no end of it in sight.

Willow turned to Anya: “I don’t know about you, but I came here to dance. Want to join me?”

“I appreciate the offer, Willow. But we don’t have interlocking parts, so I just don’t see the point.”

“I didn’t mean—urgh!” Willow grunted in exasperation and went off alone to the dance floor.

“What’s with Will?” asked Xander, watching his best friend stomp away for no apparent reason. Anya shrugged and took a sip of her drink, and Xander and Buffy resumed their argument as if nothing had happened.

 

The next morning, even before she was fully awake, Buffy knew there was something wrong. For one thing, she heard snoring, and it wasn’t coming from Riley. And then there was the fact that her feet reached all the way to the end of the bed.

Riley draped his arm around her and snuggled up behind her—obviously feeling a little frisky. But Buffy was so not in the mood. Actually, she hadn’t been in the mood with Riley for a long time now, but she refused admit it. Feeling his hardness rubbing against her back, she groaned in protest and was surprised at how deep it sounded.

Buffy wasn’t the only one who was surprised. Riley’s eyes flew open at the un-Buffy-like sound and promptly fell out of bed. Buffy rolled onto her back and cracked her eyes open. Riley was staring at her like she’d grown a second head, a possibility she wasn’t quick to dismiss—stranger things had happened in Sunnydale.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” he squeaked, quickly grabbing his pillow to cover himself up.

Buffy raised herself up on her elbows and frowned at him. “What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here’?” she asked and bolted upright at the sound of her voice, clasping her hands over her mouth. That was not her voice coming out of her mouth. In fact, it wasn’t even her mouth it had come out of. Her fingers felt sharp stubble on her chin and went on to investigate the rest of her face. It was definitely not the same face she’d had when she went to bed last night.

“Oh, ha-ha. Very funny. Is Buffy hiding in the closet or something? You can come out now—joke’s over.”

Buffy’s mouth went dry. She let her eyes drop and saw that it wasn’t just her face that had undergone a transformation during the night. Her arms were larger and covered in dark hairs, and her chest… Buffy blinked in disbelief and looked up at Riley, who was quickly losing his temper.

“I’m serious,” he said, opening the closet door and checking behind the curtains. “I don’t find this funny at all.”

“Believe me, Riley—I don’t find it funny either,” said Buffy, climbing out of bed. She felt oddly weak and achy, and her feet seemed like they were miles away. She suddenly felt dizzy and reached out to Riley for support.

Riley backed away at the last second, and Buffy lost her balance, grabbing him around the waist and knocking the pillow out of his hands as she fell. She pulled herself up slowly, standing shakily on unfamiliar legs. Then she looked down to find two naked male bodies, and realised that one of them was hers. When she looked up into Riley’s face, it was so red with anger that he looked as if he might explode.

Buffy should have seen it coming, but for some reason, Riley’s punches caught her off guard. The first landed hard in her stomach, making her double over in pain. The second ploughed into her jaw and sent her sprawling to the floor. It hurt. God, it hurt so much!

Riley threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, ignoring the moans of pain coming from the curled up ball of Buffy on the floor.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Harris. I’ll be back in ten minutes,” he said. “You’d better be gone by then.” Riley left, slamming the door behind him.

Buffy plucked herself up off the floor, gingerly rubbing her aching stomach muscles. She was stunned by Riley’s behaviour—he hadn’t even let her talk. And he’d definitely called her ‘Harris’. Buffy staggered over to Riley’s dresser mirror to have a look at herself.

Sure enough, it was Xander’s face that stared back at her. An angry red mark was already forming on her jaw where Riley had hit her, and she touched it, wincing at the pain. The sight of Xander’s features reacting to her pain distracted her, and she tried out a few more expressions, fascinated. Then her eyes travelled down her reflection to her chest and stomach.

“Not bad,” she muttered, impressed by the bulky muscles Xander had kept hidden under his baggy clothes. Her eyes roamed a bit further south with a mixture of guilt and curiosity. “Not bad,” she repeated.

Curiosity overcame her guilt, and she reached down and touched herself. Her penis twitched ever so slightly under her fingers, and Buffy let out a tiny “Eep!”

 

Xander’s alarm clock went off and he tried to slap the snooze button, but he found he couldn’t reach it. Assuming he’d rolled to the far side of the bed during the night, he shimmied over until his hand found his alarm clock. He hit the snooze button and went back to sleep, smacking his lips together contentedly.

Ten minutes later the alarm went off again. Stretching, Xander turned it off and swung his legs out of bed. Something kept tickling at his face and neck, and he brushed it away. It didn’t work—whatever it was kept tickling him. He swatted at it again, caught something in his hand and pulled. Xander yelped in pain as he yanked some of his hair out of his scalp. Then he yelped in surprise at the sound of his yelp.

He was suddenly aware of a thousand things that were wrong and it overloaded his brain. The hair he’d pulled out was long and blond—not his hair—and yet it was definitely attached to his head. The hand he held it in wasn’t right either, and neither was the arm it was attached to. And his feet barely reached the floor.

Xander started to panic, his tiny lungs working overtime as his heart pounded in his diminutive chest. His first thought was that he was shrinking. He stood up and his boxer shorts pooled around his ankles. He looked down, confused as to why he couldn’t see his feet—he had to peek over his t-shirt, which was sticking out too far for some reason. Then he saw that his penis had fallen off and he fainted dead away.

Several minutes later when he finally came to, Xander was able to think more rationally. He wasn’t shrinking, and his penis hadn’t fallen off. And the reason his t-shirt stuck out so far was because he now had breasts. Not flat manly breasts, but soft, jiggly woman breasts. He pawed at them curiously, then cupped them in his hands, hefting them up and down and squeezing them between his fingers.

Oddly enough, the discovery that he’d somehow become a woman overnight was not as horrifying to him as he thought it ought to be. Instead, he felt a rush of excitement, like he had when he was seven years old and his parents had surprised him with his very first bicycle. He wondered what it would be like to take this new body for a spin.

Then he remembered that he wasn’t seven anymore. He was an adult, with adult responsibilities and a job he couldn’t afford to lose. After taking a quick peek down his shirt at his new boobs, Xander sighed and picked up the phone to call his construction site. There was no way around it—he’d have to play hookie.

Xander pretended to be a nurse at the hospital and claimed that Xander was too sick to come to the phone, and would probably be out of commission for a few days. He threw in words like ‘viral’ and ‘highly contagious’ for good measure, and was quite pleased with the results.

Now that he was free and clear to explore his new identity, Xander peeled off his t-shirt and padded across the basement floor to the tiny bathroom, watching the jiggling bounciness of his boobs with fascination.

Anxious to see what the female version of himself looked like, he flicked on the light switch and yelled when he saw a naked Buffy facing him in the mirror.

“Dear sweet huggable Jesus,” he breathed. “I’ve been fondling Buffy’s bosom. She’s so gonna kill me.”

Xander grabbed a towel off the rack and wrapped it around himself. He felt horrible, like he’d been sneaking a peek at his sister like some pervy hormonal teenager. He was back in panic mode, wanting to get dressed and go for help, but too afraid to remove the towel and confront naked Buffy again.

Eventually he settled for getting dressed with his eyes closed and with as little touching of Buffy’s bits as possible. His pants kept falling down, though, even with his belt done up as tight as it would go. He got an idea and started rummaging around in his father’s tool kit for some electrical tape. He tore off a huge strip and wrapped it around his waist, securing his pants. When he was done, he checked the results in the mirror and winced. If Buffy ever found out he’d dressed her like this, she’d skin him alive.

He decided to go straight to Willow’s. If anyone could figure out how to fix this mess, it was her.

 

Buffy stole some of Riley’s clothes and snuck out of his dorm room. The clothes fit fairly well, except the pants, which seemed to bind in a very uncomfortable way. She was starting to understand why Xander always wore such baggy pants.

She made it out of the dorm without drawing attention to herself, then she set a brisk pace, heading for the Magic Box. After a few blocks she developed a painful stitch in her side and had to slow down. By the time she reached the store she was downright winded—she never fully appreciated the amount of energy a normal, non-Slayer-type person expended simply walking.

Buffy opened the door of the Magic Box, setting the bell over the door a-tinkling. She immediately doubled over, hands on her knees, trying to get her breath back. The cool air-conditioned air chilled her sweat-soaked borrowed body.

“Hello?” said Giles, approaching her. “Oh, it’s you, Xander. Anya’s not in yet,” he said. Watching the young man’s laboured breathing, he asked; “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” said Buffy, straightening herself up. She was relieved Anya wasn’t there. Dealing with the whole Xander’s body thing was hard enough without having to deal with his ex-demon girlfriend as well.

“What happened to your face?” asked Giles.

“Riley happened,” she answered bitterly.

“Why? What did you do?”

“Nothing!” she snapped indignantly. “Why do you automatically assume it was my fault?”

Giles just looked at her with one brow raised as if to say ‘when isn’t it you fault?’.

“Okay,” she conceded. “Usually it is Xander’s fault, but this time… Listen, Giles—we need to talk.”

“Can it wait until after lunch? I have a stack of invoices to go through.”

“No, it can’t wait,” she answered and turned around and locked the door, flipping the sign in the window to ‘CLOSED’.

“Xander, what are you doing?”

“We need some privacy for what I have to tell you,” she replied.

“Please Xander, I hear enough about your love life from Anya—I don’t need to be bombarded on both fronts.”

“Will you shut up and let me talk, Giles?” said Buffy, stunning him into silence. “Something happened last night. I’m not exactly sure how it happened, but this morning I woke up in Xander’s body.”

Giles gave her a quizzical look, then smiled slyly, as if he expected Allen Funt to jump out from behind a display shelf with a camera. “Okay, I’ll bite—who are you, then?”

“This is serious, Giles. I have to get my body back, like now, if I’m going to have a chance against this Glory chick. We can do the twenty questions thing like we did last year with that whole Faith fiasco, but I’ll save you the time…Mr. Stevedore. By the way, I looked it up in the dictionary, and I still don’t get it.”

“Dear Lord—Buffy!” he muttered and began pacing around the table. When that didn’t seem to do the trick, he stopped, took off his glasses, and gave them a thorough cleaning. “What happened, exactly? Try to remember as much detail as possible.”

Buffy sat down at the table and crossed her legs. Then she uncrossed them and shifted in her chair, trying to find a comfortable position.

“God, this is so annoying. How do you guys ever get comfy with your sensitive bits in such an awkward place?” she asked, still fussing on the chair.

Giles sighed quietly and took the seat opposite her, demonstrating the technique of subtly gathering the material of his pants as he sat, creating a slightly looser environment for said sensitive bits. Buffy gave it a try and smiled when she found it worked.

“So now you know the secret of the trouser-hike,” said Giles. “But if you ask me, the Scots had the right idea: kilts are far more comfortable and practical than trousers.”

“You’ve worn a kilt?” Buffy squeaked. Or at least it would have been a squeak, if her voice had been an octave or so higher. Images of Giles wearing a kilt flashed through her mind, along with the thought of what most Scotsmen supposedly wore under their kilts. To her horror, her new body decided to respond to those images, and she suddenly found Riley’s pants getting tighter. Luckily Giles didn’t seem to notice.

“I’ve worn a kilt on a few occasions. Weddings, mostly—I’ve got a lot of Scots blood running through my veins. But we’ve gotten off topic, and we’d better hurry this along before Anya arrives. I don’t want to think what would happen if she showed up and the store was still closed.” He shuddered at the thought.

Buffy told Giles about her argument with Xander, perhaps with a slight bias in favour of her side.

“Did either of you use the words ‘I wish’ during the argument?” asked Giles.

“No,” said Buffy, firmly. “At least, I don’t think so. Actually, I’m not sure, really… Maybe?” she admitted, apologetically.

“Buffy—you of all people should know better than to have those kinds of conversations in public. You never know who’s listening in,” Giles scolded.

Buffy rolled her eyes; “I know, I know. It’s just…sometimes Xander drives me crazy.”

“I think that’s a defence that would stand up in any court,” said Giles, and they shared a brief grin.

“So you’re thinking vengeance demon?”

“Or spell. It would help if we knew who else was there.”

“Giles, it was The Bronze. On a Saturday night. The place was packed.”

Giles grimaced and got up to do a little more pacing.

“Can’t you just do a spell like Willow and Tara did the last time?”

“Hm?” he asked, lost in his thoughts. “Oh—a spell. Yes, ultimately, that’s probably what we’ll do. But we can’t reverse a spell unless we know exactly what spell was originally cast. Willow and Tara were very lucky—essence transference is tricky at best. Without the proper reversal spell, you could end up in someone else’s body, or simply floating about, non-corporeally, for all eternity. And that’s assuming it was a spell that caused the switch. If it was a vengeance demon or something else, a spell would be ineffectual.”

Buffy’s face fell. “This isn’t looking too good, is it? Giles, I can’t stay stuck in Xander’s body—I’m all weak and achy, and…oh…oh my God!”

“What?” asked Giles, anxiously. “Buffy, what is it?”

“I have to pee.”

Giles had to fight to keep a straight face—her look of panic was priceless. “Well, you know where the washroom is.”

“I can’t do this! I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“It’s hardly rocket science,” replied Giles, letting a little grin slip.

“I grew up in a house full of girls, and Riley’s got a shy bladder—I haven’t got a clue how it works for guys.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Or would you like me to come with you and hold your hand?”

Buffy actually considered it for a second, until the thought of Giles with her in the bathroom started making her pants too tight again. She was starting to wonder how men managed to get anything done with such stupid body parts getting in the way. She made a bee-line for the ladies’ room, absolutely refusing to go into the men’s.

When she was out of earshot, Giles let out the laughter he’d been fighting to hold back. He laughed until tears came to his eyes, and he was still chuckling helplessly when Buffy returned.

“You think this is funny?” she asked, annoyed. Giles tried to control himself, but he still couldn’t wipe the silly grin from his face. It was contagious. Buffy found herself smiling back, then laughing along with him. She had to admit, it was kinda funny.

At least she thought it was pretty funny until Anya arrived.


	2. Chapter 2

Anya pounded on the door, staring at Buffy and Giles as if they were personally responsible for destroying her life.

“Damn, I forgot to unlock the door,” said Giles between spurts of giggles, and he went to unlock it. Anya stormed past him and slammed her purse down on the counter.

“We can’t get people to give us their money if we don’t let them in!” she said in exasperation. “Are you trying to ruin me?”

“I assure you, this was not a personal attack. Buffy had something important to discuss with me, and we didn’t want to be disturbed.”

Anya looked at him, then at Xander, and frowned. “Giles, you really are very bad at lying. Buffy’s not even here. And Xander, aren’t you supposed to be at work? Are you sick or something?” she asked, accidentally showing more concern than she’d intended. She swiftly back-pedalled: “Not that I care anymore. It makes no difference to me.”

“Anya, this isn’t Xander, it’s Buffy,” explained Giles. “Somehow she’s managed to get herself stuck in Xander’s body.”

“Well that was careless,” said Anya, going up to Buffy to give her a closer inspection.

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Giles, receiving a glare from Buffy. “But it’s still a serious matter,” he amended soberly.

“So that means Xander’s out there somewhere in Buffy’s body?” asked Anya.

Buffy and Giles looked at each other, and Buffy went pale.

“Good Lord,” Giles murmured. 

 

 

Xander knocked on Willow’s door. He heard the rustling of covers and giggling from inside and knew he’d caught them at a bad time.

“Who is it?” came Willow’s voice from the other side of the door.

“Um…it’s me,” answered Xander, figuring that covered all the bases.

Willow opened the door. “Hey, Buff. You’re up early.”

“Yeah, well…it’s been a weird morning,” said Xander.

“So I can see,” said Willow, taking in his unusual outfit. Xander followed her into her room, but stopped dead when he saw Tara sitting on the bed wearing nothing but a flimsy nightie. It was more than a little see-through. Tara waved at him, but gave him an odd look.

“So, what’s up?” asked Willow, sitting down next to Tara on the bed.

Xander tried not to drool. “Will, do you remember last night at The Bronze?”

“Ugh! I’m trying to forget!” she exclaimed. “You know I love Xander, but I swear—one more word about how women have it so easy and I would have knocked him on his butt.”

“Well, now’s your chance,” said Xander. “Go ahead, knock me on my butt. I deserve it.”

Willow looked at him blankly, but Tara understood immediately and covered herself with a blanket.

“Xander—is that you in there?” asked Willow.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Well, that explains the outfit,” she quipped.

“Willow! I need your help here…and I’m not talkin’ fashion advice.”

“Wow! It really is you in there. Hi!” she said, peering deeply into her friend’s eyes and waving.

“Cut it out, Will,” he whined, sounding more like Buffy than ever before.

“Sorry, Xander, but it’s not like you just got your hair cut. This is a big change—it’s gonna take a little time to get used to.”

“No—that’s just the point—I don’t want anyone to get used to it. I have to get my body back. Now. Buffy doesn’t even trust me with her good weapons. Somehow I don’t think she’d ever forgive me if I broke her body.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Tara from the bed. “Her body’s pretty much Xander-proof. I’d be more worried about her breaking your body.”

“Again with the not helping,” said Xander, shoving his little hands into his big pockets and sulking.

“It’s okay, Xander,” said Willow confidently. “We’ve done the whole body-swap thing before with Buffy and Faith. We can just do a spell like that one for you guys. It doesn’t even have to be so complex, ‘cause both parties are willing to switch back this time.”

Xander breathed a sigh of relief. “Great. Whip up your potion, or whatever, and let’s go.”

Willow ordered Xander out of the room so she and Tara could prepare.

 

 

It was annoyingly busy at The Magic Box, making it hard for Giles and Buffy to discuss her problem. Anya wasn’t helping much either—she kept sizing Buffy up whenever she got the chance.

“So, who am I supposed to have reconciliation sex with,” asked Anya between helping customers. “When you think about it, it’s kind of icky either way.”

“Anya!” Giles warned.

“What?” she asked defensively. “This was only supposed to be a temporary break-up, designed to make him come to his senses and do what I want. How am I supposed to make up with Xander now?”

Buffy rolled her eyes and pulled Giles over to a quiet corner of the store.

“I think I should go find Xander and bring him here,” she said.

“No need,” said Giles nodding towards the door. “He’s here.”

Xander burst through the door, nearly taking it off its hinges. “Sorry, I haven’t quite got the hang of this super-strength thing,” he murmured. Tara and Willow appeared behind him and they joined Giles and Buffy in the quiet corner.

Buffy took one look at Xander in her body and let out a shout of horror. He’d dressed himself the way a little boy might dress a Barbie Doll with his G.I. Joe’s clothes.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” said Xander in self-defence. “Hey—what’d you do to my face?”

“Let’s just say Riley gets a little cranky in the morning…or at least on mornings when he finds himself naked in bed with you.”

“Ohhh…” said Xander. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“What? This little scratch? I hardly felt it. If you think a teeny bruise is bad, you’d better hope you never have to go a round with Glory,” said Buffy.

“Stop it, you two,” said Willow. “It’s talk like that that got you into this mess in the first place. Now, if you’ll just be quiet for a minute and grab hold of this, we’ll have you back to normal in no time.”

Buffy and Xander reached out for the glowing white crystal in Willow’s hand.

“Don’t touch that!” Giles shouted. But it was too late. The crystal started glowing red, enveloping Buffy and Xander in its light. It grew blindingly bright then suddenly went out, cracking the crystal in the process.

“Buffy? Xander? Say something. Did it work?” Willow asked nervously.

Xander’s hands went straight to his chest. “Nope. Sorry, Will—it didn’t work.”

“Hey! Watch the hands,” snapped Buffy.

“Sorry, Buff,” he apologised and dropped his hands to his sides where they couldn’t get him into trouble.

“Well, at least you don’t appear to be any worse off than you were before,” said Giles. “And I think we’re most likely dealing with a vengeance demon—if it had been a spell that caused your switch, the counter-spell would have had some effect. Unless, of course, it was a spell with a built in booby trap.”

Xander’s eyes dropped to his chest automatically, and Buffy smacked him in the arm. “Aw, c’mon,” Xander complained. “You can’t expect me to just ignore a comment like that!”

“I can help out,” said Anya as she passed by on her way over to greet a new customer. “I’ve got connections in the demon community.”

“Good. We can use all the help we can get,” Buffy called after her, but Anya was already focused on the young Goth couple near the door.

“So, what do we do now?” asked Tara.

“We search for answers, as usual,” Giles stated.

“Tara and I can scope out The Bronze…see if anyone noticed anything unusual last night. We could take Anya with us. Maybe she’ll recognise an old demon friend,” said Willow, and got a nod of agreement from Tara.

“Fine,” said Giles. “Buffy and I will get a start on the research.”

“Ugh! Research? You want me to do research?” asked a disgruntled Buffy.

“It’s not safe for you to be patrolling in your current…uh…condition,” said Giles. “Until you get your body back, I think it’s best if you try and keep out of harm’s way.”

“Ha! Now look who’s on snooze duty,” said Xander smugly.

“Xander, you’ll be taking over patrol duty for Buffy,” Giles added with just a hint of satisfaction in his voice.

“Uh…what?” Xander sputtered. “I’m just…I’m not…I can’t!”

“Whether you like it or not, Xander, you’re now the Slayer. You have a sacred duty…”

“Ha!” Buffy barked triumphantly. “Now look who’s getting the sacred duty speech!”

Giles glowered at her and continued: “As I was saying, the Key needs a guardian. You may not have been born a Slayer, and you may find the transition difficult, but you’re now all that stands between this world and the forces of darkness.”

“Geez, Giles. No pressure,” Xander grumbled.

Anya finished ringing in a sale and rushed over. “You can’t let Xander do Buffy’s job,” she argued. “Even if he has her powers, he doesn’t know how to use them. And if he gets killed now, you’ll lose your Slayer. And Xander, of course,” she added belatedly.

“She’s got a point, Giles—being the Slayer is more than just looking pretty and carrying a pointy stick.”

“Alright,” said Giles. “Go on patrol with him tonight and coach him. But be careful…both of you. Tomorrow, if we haven’t found a solution to your problem, I’ll start training the two of you together. One way or the other, we have to protect the Key, which means both of you must be prepared.”

“So…what do we do in the meantime?” asked Xander.

“I suggest you go home; give yourselves a chance to adjust. I’ll start on the research.”

“Tara and I can help you,” offered Willow.

“Fine,” said Anya as she passed them to restock the frog’s tongues. “Just try to keep it down—I don’t want you scaring away paying customers.”

Willow, Giles and Tara started looking through the books, leaving Buffy and Xander to fend for themselves.

“So—does your body come with an instruction manual?” asked Xander.

“Nope. No special instructions,” she answered. “Except…don’t eat chocolate ice cream. You’ll crave it, but trust me—it’s a bad idea. Oh, and don’t sleep on your stomach or your neck will cramp up. And I’m allergic to penicillin and cat dander. I’m on the pill, too, so make sure you take it every night. I can’t stress enough how important that is. If you don’t know how they work, read the little pamphlet that comes in the package. And use conditioner, or my hair dries out and looks like straw. And one more thing: after a fight, you might feel a little…odd. Just ignore it and it’ll go away. Eventually.”

“You’re sure you covered everything now?” asked Xander sarcastically.

“Yep. That about covers it. What about you? Anything I need to know?”

“Nada. It’s all pretty much self-explanatory. Just try not to get all heroic—I want my body back in one big piece, not a whole bunch of little ones.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t think Giles is gonna let me see any action until we’re back to normal,” she said. “Oh, I almost forgot—we’ll need to swap keys.”

Xander grinned; “So you’re really gonna stay in my parent’s basement? And I get to live in a girl’s dorm? Sweet.”

“At least I won’t have to share a bathroom with twenty other girls. I could get used to that,” said Buffy.

“You make it sound like a bad thing,” said Xander. Buffy just smiled at him sadly and handed over her keys—he had no idea what he was in for.

 

 

Buffy had Xander’s car keys, but knew better than to attempt to drive. Nothing good could come of a Buffy/car combo. Besides, she was used to walking. She set a leisurely pace to accommodate for Xander’s more limited physical capabilities and decided that she’d have to get him in shape. He wasn’t a weakling, by any means, but Buffy found it hard to believe a normal person could tire out so easily.

By the time she arrived at his house, she was once again tired and sweaty. And she was starting to smell like a tired and sweaty guy. Buffy snuck into his basement ‘suite’ and started poking around. The place was tidier than she’d expected. But, then, Anya had practically been living there with him lately, so it kind of made sense.

She dug through his dresser and closet looking for some clothes that didn’t overly offend her sense of fashion. She settled on a plain, white t-shirt and jeans, and toyed with the thought of setting fire to some of his scarier outfits. Buffy gathered her pile of clothes and wandered over to his teeny bathroom.

The bruise on her face was turning an angry shade of purple, and she poked at it, a little unnerved that it still hurt. She opened his medicine cabinet and found the usual stuff: aftershave, razors, Tums, aspirin, and a ridiculously large stash of condoms. There was also some toothpaste, which reminded her that she hadn’t brushed her teeth yet. She looked around for a new toothbrush, but couldn’t find one. Eventually she picked up Xander’s toothbrush and loaded it up with toothpaste. She figured it wasn’t gross borrowing someone else’s toothbrush, if you’re also borrowing their teeth.

That done, Buffy peeled off the clothes she’d stolen from Riley’s closet and dropped them in an undignified heap on the cold, tile floor. She had to play around with the taps a while before she could get anything even remotely resembling hot water out of the shower. Stepping under the prickly spray, Buffy sighed with relief. All the aches and pains that had plagued her since she woke up began to dissolve and wash down the drain.

It felt good. It felt normal. So simple and uncomplicated.

Buffy started soaping herself up, running her lathered hands over her unfamiliar body. The contours of Xander’s body felt so foreign to her fingers—he was flat and firm where she was used to being round and soft. And even though she knew her own body was far stronger than his, she couldn’t help feeling more confident inside his larger, more muscular frame.

And then there was Little Xander. Sudsy water foamed around the aggravating and mischievous body part. She looked down and scowled at it. It certainly had a mind of its own. Now she understood why men were so preoccupied with their genitalia—the stupid thing was impossible to control. Twice, already, the perky passenger in her pants had nearly outed her secret infatuation. Thank God Giles seemed to be oblivious—the last thing she needed was her Watcher going all stuttery and bashful when she needed him to be strong and assertive. Although…he was awfully sweet when he got flustered…

“Not again!” Buffy griped as her new best friend stood up to greet her. She refused to acknowledge it—partly because it freaked her out a little, but mostly because indulging in her hopeless fantasies would only make her feel more awkward with Giles and more distant with Riley.

A flash of anger went through her at the thought of Riley and the way he’d treated her earlier. How dare he punch her in the face? Sure, he thought she was Xander at the time, but that didn’t give him the right to try and rearrange her features. Buffy looked down and was relieved to find Little Xander fast asleep once more.

 

 

Xander had just spent more time in the communal bathroom than he’d thought was humanly possible. It was crowded and cluttered, and even though half the girls were semi-naked, Xander was too frustrated to care. It didn’t help that he had to pee so bad his teeth ached, and two of the three stalls were out of order. When it was finally his turn, Xander rushed in, doing what he hoped was a subtle ‘gotta-pee’ dance.

Facing the toilet, Xander unzipped his fly before realizing it didn’t work that way anymore. The pressure in his bladder kicked up a notch, making him suck in a hissing breath through his teeth. The subtle ‘gotta-pee’ dance became a not-so-subtle ‘holy-crap-I’m-gonna-piss-my-pants’ dance as Xander fought to free himself from his makeshift electrical tape belt. The relief he felt when he finally Houdinied his way out of his pants and hit the porcelain brought tears to his eyes.

Having recovered from the whole washroom ordeal, Xander was back in Buffy’s dorm room, picking out a selection of clothes from her closet when he sensed a presence behind him. Xander swung around, and his pants, no longer held up by tape, plummeted to the floor. Riley’s bulk filled the doorframe, and Xander panicked at getting caught snooping in Buffy’s things.

Then he remembered that, technically, he was now Buffy, so they were now his things. So he shouldn’t feel guilty. After all, he had to go through her things if he was ever going to get dressed properly. That’s when he realized he was standing in front of Buffy’s boyfriend with his pants around his ankles.

“Riley—what are you doing here?” he asked, pulling up his pants and holding them so they wouldn’t fall down again. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

Riley gave Xander an odd look—something he was starting to get used to. “Since when do I have to knock? It’s not like you have anything to hide.” Riley advanced on Xander with an accusatory glare. “I’m sure you have a perfectly good explanation for sneaking out in the middle of the night. And I bet that outfit you’re wearing is just the latest in Spring fashions.”

For a second, Xander nearly backed away from him, but then the thought occurred to him that if it came down to a fight, there was no way Riley could take him. That gave Xander a boost of confidence, and he bravely closed the gap between them until he stood face to chest with the ex-army man.

“First of all,” said Xander, “you owe me an apology. That was my face you messed up this morning. Did it even occur to you that waking up next to Xander was more than just a little weird? Did you even consider the Hellmouthy possibilities before you started throwing punches? Buffy woke up this morning in my body—totally freaked—and the first thing you do is punch her in the face. Forget what I said…you owe Buffy the apology, not me.”

Riley’s temper deflated a bit as he played back the morning’s events in his mind.

“So…this morning in my room—that was Buffy? And you’re Xander?”

“Give the man a prize,” Xander said caustically.

“How?” asked Riley, ignoring Xander’s tone of voice.

“Dunno. What’s more, we don’t know how to fix it. Giles has me taking over patrol duties and training, and…”

“What do you mean, you don’t know how to fix it? Are you saying Buffy might be stuck in your body indefinitely?” Riley was quickly building up to angry again.

“Whoa there, big fella. Take a deep, cleansing breath and relax…we’re working on it. We’ve already tried a counter-spell. It didn’t work...but don’t worry, the Scoobies are in full research mode as we speak.”

“Where’s Buffy?”

“She’s at my place,” said Xander. Riley took off so fast Xander could swear he heard a zooming sound. “You’re welcome,” Xander said to the empty room.


	3. Chapter 3

Buffy was lounging around, enjoying the bagginess of Xander’s pants and the junky food he kept stashed in his cupboards. Her appetite was totally out of control, but she showed some restraint and ate only one Ding Dong. After all, she didn’t want to turn Xander into a blimp.

She was in the middle of raiding his fridge for a nice cold drink when there was a loud banging at the door. Buffy froze, wondering what she should do. She wasn’t sure she was ready to deal with Xander’s parents just yet. The pounding started up again.

“Buffy? Are you in there?” came Riley’s voice from outside.

Buffy flew up the stairs and opened the door. She prayed his loud knocking hadn’t bothered Mr and Mrs Harris.

“Riley—what are you doing here?” she asked quietly.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” he asked. “I ran into Xander in your dorm room. He…uh…filled me in on the situation.”

Buffy stood facing him, her arms crossed, and made no move to invite him inside.

“Look, I’m sorry I hit you this morning. But really, can you blame me?”

Buffy raised an eyebrow at him.

“I said I’m sorry, what more do you want? This is all just a bit too weird for me. And I’d be lying if I said seeing you like…like this…makes me want to kiss and make up. Maybe we should save this conversation for when you’re back to your old self again.”

“And what if that never happens?” asked Buffy. “What if I can never go back to the way I was?”

“You make it sound like you don’t want things to go back to normal,” said Riley, starting to get defensive.

“It’s not a question of what I want, Riley. This could be me from now on whether I like it or not. And that’s a hell of a thing to have to deal with. The question is, can you still love me like this?”

Riley puffed out his chest, all set to declare his undying love no matter what the circumstances, but before he could, Buffy grabbed him and pulled him into a kiss. Riley recoiled as if her lips were poisonous, and pushed her away.

“That’s what I thought,” said Buffy dejectedly.

Riley was too stunned and disturbed to say anything and decided to simply retreat and regroup.

Buffy watched him leave, saddened, but not surprised, that he’d reacted the way he had. She was about to close the door and go back downstairs, when Mr Harris suddenly appeared in the doorway.

Buffy gasped in surprise and backed away from Xander’s father until her back was against the wall. His face was twisted into a sneer of disgust as he came at her, a meaty finger pointing at her accusingly.

“Not in my house,” Mr Harris said through clenched teeth. “I will not have any homos flitting around in my house. I’ve always known you were a bit…off. And I’ve put up with it. But no son of mine is gonna drag the Harris name through the mud under my roof.”

Buffy wanted desperately to give him a piece of her mind, but she’d already caused enough trouble for Xander and she didn’t want to make it worse. She settled for shooting daggers at him with her eyes and saying nothing.

“I want you out of here tonight. I don’t want to see your face anywhere near this house again.” He finished by poking Buffy hard on the chest with his meaty, pointing finger, then he slammed the door on his way out.

Buffy blinked back at the door for a moment. Xander was going to kill her when he found out about this.

 

 

Buffy met Xander in the front lobby of her dorm, but had a hard time looking him in the eye. She’d spent the afternoon lugging suitcases full of Xander’s personal belongings across town to Xander’s car, which he’d left down the street from The Magic Box. By the end of the day, she was wishing she could have another shower. And a nap.

“I am so ready to kick some demon butt,” said Xander, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of a good fight. He felt more energised than he had since he was six years old and strung out on Lick-em Sticks. He was positively buzzing with adrenalin.

Glad to see you decided to go with a practical outfit,” said Buffy, noting that Xander’s lack of fashion sense transcended the gender barrier. He had found her tightest and most revealing clothes and figured they’d be perfect to do battle in.

“I know it’s a bit ‘Xena’,” said Xander, “but that can’t be bad, right? I mean, Xena’s a good role model—she’s like Wonder Woman…but with leather.”

“Sure, whatever. But if you pop out of that top in the middle of a fight, don’t come crying to me.” Buffy dragged herself out of the building with Xander bouncing all around her like a hyper puppy. He kept at it all the way to the park, where they started their sweep for creatures of the night.

They scoped out the area and found nothing unusual, but Xander was starting to pick up on Buffy’s negative vibes. As they were leaving the park, Xander stopped walking and Buffy nearly ran into him.

“Okay, Buff. What’s up?” he asked.

“Up? Nothing’s up.”

“Oh, please,” he said. “I know my own face—I know that ‘something’s-chewing-me-up-inside’ look. So spit it out.”

Buffy sighed and shuffled her feet. She’d been hoping to avoid this conversation. Preferably forever. But Xander was staring at her impatiently—now she knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a full-out Buffy glare. It was unsettling, to say the least.

“Don’t freak, okay?” she started.

Xander crossed his arms and nodded.

“Okay. So today…well…I kinda got kicked out of your house,” she said, flinching in anticipation of his imminent freak out.

“And?” Xander asked calmly.

“You’re not freaking. Why aren’t you freaking?”

“You kidding?” he said. “If I had a dollar for every time my father threatened to kick me out, I could afford to buy my own mansion.” He shrugged it off and started heading for the nearest cemetery.

“He didn’t just threaten, Xander. He actually kicked me out—told me never to show my face there again,” said Buffy, jogging to keep up with him.

“That old speech? Nothing to worry about…but it means you’ll have to find somewhere else to stay and lay low for a while.”

“How long?” she asked.

“Depends on what you did to piss him off,” he answered.

“He sort of caught me kissing Riley,” she blurted out quickly, and jogged right into a suddenly stationary Xander. “Ow,” she added in a tiny voice.

Xander swirled around to face her. “Please tell me you’re joking?”

Buffy shook her head and bit her lip nervously.

“Well then, I’d say you’re lucky you got out of the house in one piece—my father’s not known for his liberal-mindedness.”

“So I gathered,” she said. “You know, you’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would.”

“I’m not too worried. Wait a couple of weeks, then tell him it was all a misunderstanding. My mom will take care of the rest, and my folks will go back to their regular state of diligent silence and healthy denial.” They started walking again, cutting across the wooded area bordering Peaceful Dreams Cemetery.

Xander was suddenly struck with a pain unlike anything he’d felt before. His lower back seized up in a pulsing ache and the pain was even more pronounced in his abdomen.

“What the hell?” he said, his hands grasping at the areas where the pain was throbbing incessantly.

“Are you getting cramps?” asked Buffy.

“I’m getting something! Feels like my organs are liquefying!”

“Yep. That’s cramps, alright. It means there’s a vampire nearby. Get ready.”

“Cramps? You’re telling me you get these every time you get near a vampire?” he asked, astonished.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby—it’s not that bad. We’d have to be surrounded by a bunch of vampires for the pain to be more than just a twinge… oops!” she said as bunch of vampires surrounded them.

Buffy, operating on auto-pilot, flew into action, and was brutally reminded that her wings had been clipped. When she landed her first punch, it felt like she’d slammed her fist into a brick wall. As she cradled her battered fingers, the vampire ploughed into her. The blow sent her flying several feet, then she landed hard, smacking her head against a rock.

Xander watched the bizarre image of his body lying unconscious in the distance as two vampires descended on it. Four more began circling him. The part of his brain that usually told him to duck and cover went AWOL, and he started laying into the gang of vamps. The two that were hovering around Buffy postponed their feast to join in on the fight, and Xander was soon completely surrounded.

Far from panicking, Xander felt a rush of excitement surge through him. His slayer ‘Spidey sense’ kicked in, and he easily dodged blow after blow, and dealt out more punches and kicks than he received. He was so engrossed with his new powers that he almost forgot the bit where he was supposed to dust them.

Buffy came to feeling like her head had been split in half. She sat up slowly and felt the back of her head. Her hand came away wet with blood. It took a moment for her to remember what had happened, and by then Xander already had the situation well under control. Knowing she’d be of little use at the moment, Buffy resigned herself to sit back and watch the show.

Xander dusted the six vampires without breaking a sweat. Buffy was impressed—he may not have had her technique, but he definitely had raw talent and no end of enthusiasm. Watching him fight made her remember her first encounters with the undead, and she realised he could handle himself fine without her.

As the last vampire wafted away on the evening breeze, Xander trotted over to Buffy and helped her up. She was woozy, but after a few seconds she could stand well enough on her own. Xander looked her over critically.

“You’ve only had my body for a day, and look at it—it’s all bloody and bruised. And you’ve probably got a concussion.” He shook his head like a disappointed grade-school teacher who’d caught his star pupil cheating.

“You can have it back—I don’t want it anymore. It hurts,” she whined.

“I don’t want it back now—you’ve broken it. And, frankly, right now I’m feeling kinda…”

“Ignore it,” Buffy interjected quickly. “Finish your sweep and ignore it, and it’ll go away on its own.”

“You’re not coming with?” he asked.

“I think you can manage well enough on your own. Besides, I’m really bushed. I just want to get some sleep.”

“You can’t,” said Xander.

“What do you mean, ‘I can’t’?” asked Buffy a little grumpily. 

“You can’t go to sleep. Didn’t you hear me say you might have a concussion? You need to stay awake. And you need someone to stay awake with you to make sure you stay awake. Do you want me to take you to your mom’s place?”

“No. Mom and Dawn will be asleep by now,” she said. “Plus—finding out in the middle of the night that your daughter’s had a sex change—not such a good thing.”

“Then let me take you to Giles. If anyone knows about head injuries it’s him. And he’s got that whole watcher’s duty thing going on, so you don’t have to feel guilty about keeping him awake all night.”

 

 

A knock on the door pulled Giles’ attention away from his personal journal. He laid down his pen and checked his watch. At this time of night, a knock at the door could only mean something went wrong on patrol. He swallowed around the lump of fear in his throat and went to answer the door.

“Hey, Giles!” said Xander with false cheeriness and a plastered-on grin that he hoped looked more natural that it felt.

Buffy appeared behind him, all pale and off-balance, and took an uneasy step into Giles’ apartment. Giles reached out to steady her, and she clung on to his arm, looking at him with big, pain-glazed brown eyes.

“Drugs—what have you got?” she asked without preamble.

“Buffy, what happened? I thought you were supposed to just coach Xander tonight,” Giles said, leading her over to a chair at the dinner table. He cast Xander a disapproving look.

“Yeah, but old habits die hard. And stop glaring at Xander—it wasn’t his fault,” she said. Addressing Xander, she added: “You’d better get going—you still have a lot of ground to cover.”

“Right,” he said. “I guess I’d better be moseying along, then. And Giles, I think she’s got a concussion, so keep an eye on her, okay?”

Xander stepped back out into the darkness, itching to take on some new big bad before the night was through. Buffy watched him disappear into the shadows, feeling more jealous than worried. It was strange and frustrating not being in control. Being just normal was not sitting well with her—she’d come closer to dying tonight than she cared to admit, and it didn’t make her feel any better knowing that she owed her life to Xander Harris.

Giles closed the door, shutting out the night, and came over to Buffy to get a closer look at her head injury. The blood from the cut had caked in her hair as it dried, and she flinched as Giles carefully probed the wound. 

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay,” she replied, sighing dramatically. “I can take it.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” said Giles after his inspection. “Head wounds bleed a lot, but it looks fairly superficial. You won’t need stitches, but we should clean it and dress it straight away.”

Buffy stood to follow him to the bathroom, but the sudden motion made her dizzy. Giles caught her before she could fall and hit her head again.

“Take it slowly—you’ve had a nasty bump,” Giles said.

“And how many times have you been through this?” Buffy asked with newfound respect.

“Twenty-seven,” he said, leading her down the hall to the bathroom. “I’m keeping a running tally. Carl tells me I’m close to setting a new record.”

“Carl?” she asked.

“Emergency room attendant,” he explained. “we’ve gotten to know each other fairly well over the years. I’m his best customer,” he said with pride.

“I had no idea you spent that much time at the hospital. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Would you have let me fight with you if you’d known?”

“Of course not. I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want any of you to get hurt,” she said, and tripped over the threshold of the bathroom, smacking her knee painfully on the tile floor. “Okay. That hurt.”

Giles gently steered her over to the toilet and sat her down. “Xander, Willow and I made a choice long ago to fight at your side in any way we can. And I think, at least in some part of your brain, you were well aware of how often we’ve been hurt.” Giles gathered up some supplies from his medicine cabinet and rejoined her. “If you’ve had to ignore our pain, it was only because you’d never be able to function as a slayer if you’d allowed yourself to acknowledge it.”

“Maybe,” she said as he dabbed an iodine-soaked cotton swab over the cut, “but I still feel crappy about it.” Buffy pouted, but Xander’s face wasn’t designed for it, so the effect was lost.

“Well you shouldn’t,” said Giles, giving her a sweet smile. “Not one of us would want you worrying about us while you’re out there saving the world. You shoulder an enormous burden, and we don’t envy you.”

“Xander does,” she said. “And I envied him—his life seemed so simple and carefree…”

“But after one day spent living his life you’re convinced otherwise?” asked Giles, tossing away the used cotton swabs and bandage wrappings. “There you are. Good as new.”

Buffy felt the bandage he’d just put on her head and smiled at him gratefully. “I’ve made a real mess of things today, Giles,” she said, and her smile faltered. “I’ve been knocked around and thrown out of Xander’s house, and I don’t think I’ll ever see Riley again…” Buffy went over to the sink and washed some of the grime from her hands and face. Giles handed her a towel and she took it, holding it in her hands like it was a precious gift. Her eyes welled up with tears.

“Buffy…?”

Buffy wanted to tell him she was fine. She wanted to laugh it off and move on, but the emotional strain of the day was taking its toll. Giles’ shoulder looked big and strong and inviting, and she accepted the invitation, burying her wet face in the soft fabric of his sweater.

Giles awkwardly wrapped his arms around the bulky young man, reminding himself that it was still Buffy, no matter how she now looked. He rubbed the back of her neck soothingly, hoping he wasn’t overcompensating for his awkwardness. In any case, it seemed to be doing the trick. Buffy had stopped crying and he could feel her relax against him. She let out a low, muffled grunt of approval as Giles worked out a knot at the base of her neck.

“Are you feeling any better?” asked Giles, taking a break from his efforts.

“Much better,” she said, raising her head off his shoulder, “but I don’t think I gave you permission to stop.” Buffy looked him in the eye, confident she was finished crying. They shared a smile, and they continued to share a smile well past the amount of time two people alone together and only inches apart should share a smile. The silent smiling soon became unbearably uncomfortable, and Giles gingerly removed his hands from her neck and stepped back.

“I think…maybe we should…” Giles mumbled.

“Coffee!’ Buffy blurted out.

“Yes, coffee,” Giles agreed readily, and they dutifully retreated to the safety of the brightly lit kitchen, where caffeine and sugar would erase all thought of enormous, smiling silences.


	4. Chapter 4

Xander stood pressed against the rough bark of a tree. He could sense the presence of a vampire nearby. He’d already dusted two more strays since he dropped Buffy off at Giles’ place, and the night was winding down. He wanted one more kill, though. Just one more, and maybe that would put an end to the niggling, inexplicable urges he was feeling.

A soft rustling noise came from the other side of the tree, alerting him to the vampire’s approach. Xander swung out of concealment, stake at the ready, and nearly plunged the piece of wood home before realizing it was Spike. He let out a grunt of annoyance; of all the vampires in Sunnyhell, he had to come across the only one he wasn’t allowed to kill. Reluctantly, he backed off a step or two and put his stake away.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said, his disappointment more than obvious.

“And it’s you,” said Spike, leering at him, his eyes sweeping over his body in a slow, appreciative assessment. He snapped out of it, though, reminding himself that his dreams were just that—dreams. Despite the steamy nature of his fantasies, the Slayer was his enemy…his sworn enemy. And damned if she wasn’t wearing the tiniest little leather outfit he’d ever seen!

“Spike, what are you doing here?” asked Xander.

Spike raised his scarred eyebrow at him: “You’re standing in front of my home, and you’re wondering what I’m doing here?”

Xander’s cheeks burned—he was very much aware of the way Spike was looking at him. It was way creepy. And that stupid niggling urge was starting to niggle really loudly. It was as if his body, deprived of a fight, was crying for release of a different kind.

“Okay,” said Xander, stepping even further away from Spike; “you have a valid point. My bad. I’ll just be on my way, then.” His mind said leave—leave now, preferably at top speed—but his body had decided to stay put.

Spike must have caught the scent of Xander’s arousal because his eyes suddenly went wide and he ran his tongue over his teeth suggestively. And when Spike's eyes burned into his, Xander was drawn in like a moth to a flame.

“Maybe your coming here was no accident,” Spike muttered huskily, his mouth inches away from Xander’s ear. “Maybe you had something in mind?” It wasn’t a question. Spike cocked his head slightly and sniffed at Xander’s neck.

“Ewww, God!” Xander said in disgust. “You are so barking up the wrong tree, Spike. I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot stake!”

Spike chuckled softly and brought his hand up to Xander’s throat, trailing his black-painted nails over the tender flesh, sucking at his teeth as if imagining the taste of the blood flowing just beneath his fingertips. 

“I think the lady doth protest too much,” Spike said, and caught a glimpse of an answering hunger in Xander’s eyes.

It was insane! Of all the creatures roaming the planet, Xander couldn’t think of a single one that pissed him off as much as Spike. Yet the ache he felt… the deep, brain-numbing need…was far too strong to resist. The cool fingers stroking his throat—the lustful, icy gaze of this vampire—completely disarmed him. Huge, klaxon alarms were sounding in his head, but when Spike’s cool lips met his, other more urgent alarms went off in his body. Without thinking—without even thinking of thinking—Xander parted his lips and invited the vampire inside.

Spike was frankly astonished at Buffy’s lack of resistance. He’d expected a serious staking, or a good ass-whooping at the very least. But when the Slayer’s tongue came out to play, he knew better than to ask why. Planting his hands firmly on her hips, Spike dove into the kiss, tasting her, exploring her depths as he undulated against her.

Xander gasped at the forcefulness of Spike’s embrace. Every time he rubbed against him, Xander could feel the vampire’s straining erection. Instead of sending him into a shrieking panic, however, Xander found himself even more turned on. His entire lower body was one solid, throbbing, lust-drenched mass. His hot breath steamed in the air as Spike’s tongue and lips meandered down towards his cleavage, ravaging his skin, at once bruising and caressing him.

Xander’s hands clamped to the sides of Spike’s head, guiding him to the spots that ached the most for his touch. He scarcely noticed the way his skirt was slowly inching up. Hardly felt the strong hand slipping up his thigh, grabbing—ripping away—his underwear. The only thing he was aware of was the feel of Spike’s cool fingers dousing the flames between his legs. It was the most exquisite sensation he’d ever felt, and a moan escaped his lips announcing this fact to the rest of the world.

Spike eyed the Slayer suspiciously—she wasn’t acting at all like herself. He played with the thought of backing off to make sure she was all right. Then he reminded himself that even though he’d lost his bite, he was still a vampire—not the pathetic, pussy-whipped poet he’d been a long time ago. The Slayer was obviously tired of Mr. Corn Fed and was looking for a bit of dark and dangerous. He swore to himself that when he was finished with her, she’d never go back to her clean-cut soldier boy.

Xander allowed himself to be backed up against Spike’s crypt. The feel of the cold stone against his bared flesh was a bit of a wake-up call. The realization that he was seconds away from having sex with Spike was slightly less frightening than the thought of what Buffy would do to him if she ever found out. He grasped on to that thought and held on tight.

“Spike, stop. We can’t be doing this,” he said, making a feeble effort to extricate himself from the vampire’s strong arms.

“It’s a little late for that, pet,” said Spike.

Xander’s head flew back in a shuddering gasp as he felt Spike enter him. The feeling was strange, yet somehow right. Xander dug his nails into Spike’s shoulders and wrapped his legs around his waist, trying to feel him deeper inside—trying to put out the flame deep in his gut. But pinned as he was against the stone wall, he found that Spike’s thrusts just weren’t reaching that spot. With a growl of frustration, Xander pushed away from the wall, causing Spike to land flat on his back on the cemetery’s neatly-kept lawn. Something primitive took over inside him, and Xander knew he had no chance of controlling it. He was on top of Spike in a heartbeat and he made it perfectly clear who was in charge.

Spike tried desperately to hide his shock. He’d expected Buffy to be all soft and prudish, yet here she was riding him as hard as Dru ever had. A dark smile curled his lips. Two could play at that game.

They grappled with each other for dominance, rolling over graves and banging into tombstones in their lustful abandon. Xander ended up on top, and with a smug grin, he attacked Spike with kisses, ripping his black t-shirt open so he could get his hands on the flat, hairless chest beneath. 

The rest was a blur of lips and hands. At one point Xander shouted to the gods as Spike’s mouth latched on to his breast, rolling his erect nipple around with his tongue. He also found out, first-hand, just how many orgasms a woman could have during sex.

Xander was starting to think a vampire’s stamina was nothing less than heroic, but he never got the chance to find out how long he could keep it up, because the sun was starting to come out.

“Oh, bloody hell!” yelled Spike as his hair started to smolder under the sun’s first rays. He pushed Xander off of him and made a mad dash for the safety of his crypt, tripping twice on his own pants in his haste to reach shelter.

Xander lay panting and satisfied on the grass, staring at the gaping black entrance to the crypt. If he went in after Spike, there would be no turning back. He couldn’t deny the temptation was strong—the things he’d felt tonight went way beyond his imagination—but the reality was that he’d already abused Buffy’s trust, and he had no right to abuse it further. 

With limbs heavy with exhaustion and reluctance, Xander readjusted his clothing and started on the long walk home.

 

 

 

“Of course, the most important thing is to make sure it’s sharp,” said Giles in full lecture mode. “Trust me when I say you do not want to attempt this with a dull blade.”

Giles stood behind Buffy in the bathroom, watching her in the mirror as she attempted to apply shaving cream to her cheeks and chin. The two of them were so strung out on caffeine and sugar that they’d spent the entire night chatting and giggling like two kids at a sleep-over party. Giles taught her how to play Canasta, and they’d played cards into the wee hours of the morning. Then they had a huge, early breakfast of eggs, bacon and hash browns, after which Buffy decided she needed to learn guy things.

“It’s not like I’ve never used a razor before, Giles. I’ve shaved bits of me that have far more curves than a man’s face.”

“I think you’ll find Xander’s face much more challenging than your legs,” replied Giles.

“Who said anything about legs?” said Buffy, instantly turning so red in the face that she looked like Santa Claus above the shaving cream.

“Oh…I…erm…” Giles sputtered, completely unable to meet her eyes in the mirror. He gave himself a mental kick—he’d been acting like an idiot ever since she’d arrived on his doorstep. Why didn’t he just give her his patented glare and move on? Deep down he already knew the answer: Buffy had looked at him differently tonight, and it had taken him by surprise. He kept trying to convince himself he was delusional—after all, Buffy wasn’t wearing her own face, so maybe he’d simply misinterpreted the look. On the other hand, it was the fact that she was wearing Xander’s face that made it more likely he hadn’t misinterpreted the look. Xander’s expressions were so unguarded that his feelings were very easy to read. Buffy obviously didn’t know that, or at least didn’t know how to control it, so her feelings showed plainly on Xander’s face. And what he’d seen there made his heart trip in his chest and his tongue trip all over his teeth, so that instead of glaring and moving on, he blushed and stammered like a schoolboy with a crush.

His discomfort didn’t go unnoticed by Buffy, and she cursed herself for making him uncomfortable. She was worried she may have scared him deeper into that impenetrable British shell of his. Or worse—he might think she was just teasing him, which would give him a nice, comfortable excuse to dismiss any future advances. And even though she hadn’t intended to let her feelings for him slip, she couldn’t bear the thought of being rejected by him. She’d already lost Riley…she’d be damned if she would lose Giles as well. 

And that meant putting an end to all these awkward silences.

Buffy scraped the razor up her cheek, purposefully cutting herself in the process.

“Ow,” she murmured quietly, drawing Giles’ attention. “Okay…maybe not as easy as it looks.”

“Would you like me to show you?” he asked shyly. Their eyes met in the mirror again, and Buffy smiled a big, goofy Xander smile, made even goofier by the absurd amounts of shaving cream on her face.

Giles risked a brief smile in return, and took the razor from her outstretched hand. He stood facing her for a moment, trying to find a decent angle, but he’d never shaved anyone else before, and it was proving more difficult than he’d anticipated. After a couple of unsuccessful approaches, Giles decided the easiest way to do it was from behind. So he positioned himself behind her, reaching around with the razor in his left hand and began to shave her. However, the only way he could see what he was doing was to lean over Buffy’s right shoulder, and it soon became clear that this maneuver had brought them very close indeed. Giles could feel the heat rising off of her in waves, and he was finding it hard to keep his mind on the razor.

Buffy couldn’t have been happier with the way things had worked out. Granted, she hadn’t really sidestepped the awkwardness, but she found it hard to feel disappointed while his breath was tickling her ear. It felt as if he were holding her the way he sometimes did in her dreams. Buffy closed her eyes, savoring the fantasy, until the tapping of the razor against the porcelain sink brought her back to reality.

Giles knew he should have stopped the moment things got…tense. But he didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that she was affecting him. So instead, he continued to shave her, ploughing through mountains of foam and slowly unveiling Xander’s youthful features. 

When at last he’d finished, Giles handed Buffy a face cloth to wipe away the remnants of shaving cream, and stood back to give her some space. He dug his hands deep inside his pockets, then pulled them out again quickly—the less stimulus down there the better, he thought.

Buffy cleaned herself up, but couldn’t move away from the sink, which was hiding Little Xander’s enthusiasm.

Stupid thing.

Giles was watching her expectantly, and Buffy wasn’t sure what he wanted her to say or do.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, finally.

“Much better. Smooth as a baby’s tushie.”

“I meant your head,” said Giles. “Any dizziness or grogginess?”

“Nope, just a bit of a headache. But I think I’ll live,” she answered.

“Well, then, I’d say you’re safe to get some sleep. You can use my bed if you’d like.”

“What about you?” she asked.

“I have to go to work soon,” he answered. “Besides, I’m hoping Anya and Willow will have some good news for us—and if they don’t, then I’ll have a full day of research ahead.”

“I should come too,” she said. “I want answers even more than you do.”

“You should sleep. You’ve had a rough day, and you need your rest to recover from your injuries. But if you’d like, you can come by The Magic Box at closing time, and I’ll ask the girls to wait until you arrive to fill us in on their progress. And don’t think I’ve forgotten your training.”

“Can’t we forget the training and go for chocolate ice cream?” she whined.

Giles responded with his usual frown and said; “No chocolate ice cream until you’ve done your training. Oh, and my aftershave is in the medicine cabinet. Use it sparingly, though—it’s strong stuff.” With that, Giles left the bathroom and stood just outside the door, waiting for it.

A couple of minutes later he heard Buffy swearing up a storm as the aftershave stung her face. He smiled quietly to himself and went off to get dressed for work.

 

 

 

“Well,” said Willow to the entire group, “the good news is we know who did this.”

Xander nodded at her encouragingly. Willow and Tara were the only ones in the store he could comfortably make eye contact with. Despite his new slayer healing, he still felt a little sore from the previous night’s…activities. He couldn’t quite believe it actually happened. With Spike, of all people. Scratch that—not ‘people’—‘things’. 

He felt dirty and guilty, and yet he couldn’t help thinking how good it was, and that made him feel even worse.

“The bad news,” said Anya, “is that it was Bob.”

Everyone’s heads swiveled in her direction.

“Bob?” asked Giles and Buffy together, and they cast a furtive smile at each other.

“Well, his name’s Bobrachnilothtot, but everyone calls him Bob,” Anya explained.

“So…great!” said Xander eagerly. “You know this guy, right? Just ask him to undo it.”

“Bob can’t be reached,” said Anya.

“Is he from a different dimension?” asked Giles.

“No. He’s on vacation,” she answered. “No one knows where he goes or how to get a hold of him when he goes on vacation. It’s not like he carries a cell phone.”

“So…we just have to wait ‘til he comes back, then,” said Buffy.

“I’m afraid so,” said Anya. “I’m sorry—there’s no other way to reverse what he did.”

“No biggie,” said Buffy. “I can survive a couple of weeks in Xander’s body.”

Anya grimaced.

“What? Longer?” asked Buffy. “A month? Two months?”

“Try ten or twenty years,” Anya said and plopped down heavily in a chair.

Buffy looked at Willow and Tara, hoping to find them laughing at what she assumed was a joke. They both avoided looking at her. 

Xander got up and started pacing. He was starting to feel anxious and hyper, and he very much wanted to punch something.

“Ten or twenty years!” he yelled, and they all stared at him like he’d completely gone off the deep end. “Who the hell goes on vacation for ten or twenty years?!”

“Bob does,” answered Anya simply. “He’s been around for countless millennia—a twenty year get-away every now and again hardly seems unreasonable. Anyway, I left a message with his wife Marcy—she promised to pass it along if she sees him.”

Buffy and Xander both seemed to deflate with the news, and Willow and Tara looked so sympathetic, it made Xander want to run screaming from the room. He had just decided the day couldn’t get any worse, when a thin, blond figure appeared at the top of the basement stairs.

“Thought I might find you here,” Spike said, strolling seductively towards Xander. “We have some unfinished business to take care of.”

“Get lost, Spike,” said Buffy. “This is a private meeting.”

Spike looked at Buffy dismissively and continued his way over to Xander.

“Buffy’s right, you should leave,” Anya piped up. “What?” she asked as everyone glared at her.

Spike perked up, immediately aware that she’d inadvertently told him something he wasn’t supposed to know. He eyed Buffy carefully—her head was bowed low and she looked like she wanted to disappear into the background. Xander, on the other hand, was staring him directly in the eye, looking like he wanted any excuse to pummel him. That’s when it all fell into place, and a wicked grin spread across Spike’s face. He saw an opportunity to take the Slayer down a notch, and pounced on it.

“Buffy, sweet—I thought after last night you’d at least invite me to your little meetings. You didn’t think you could keep our sex-capades a secret from your pals, did you?”

Xander’s face burned with shame as Giles, Buffy, Willow and Tara all gawped at him.

Anya laughed. “That’s absurd!” she said, more to convince herself than the others. “Because if Spike had sex with Buffy last night, then Xander…” Her voice failed her as she caught Xander’s eye. He had guilt written all over his face.

“I don’t see what’s so absurd about it,” said Spike, casually draping his arm around Xander’s shoulders. “A girl’s gotta have a little spice in her diet.”

Xander grabbed hold of Spike’s arm and flung him to the ground with a loud thump. A stake appeared in his hand as if by magick as he straddled the vampire on the floor.

“You can shut up now, Spike,” he said through clenched teeth. “Or, you can give me an excuse to use this thing.” Xander pressed the stake into Spike’s chest hard enough to draw blood, and he saw genuine fear flash briefly in the vampire’s pale blue eyes.

The others had all turned to watch Anya, whose eyes were glassy with tears. A deep furrow of pain creased her brow. No one knew quite what to say, but they were universally relieved that D’Hoffryn had fired her from her vengeance gig.


	5. Chapter 5

It was an ugly scene. Anya stormed out of The Magic Box without another word. After a moment’s hesitation, Xander picked himself up off of Spike and ran after her. Willow and Tara, anxious to escape the tension that was mounting between Buffy and Spike, took their cue and made a quiet exit as well.

Giles leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed, and watched Buffy advance on Spike. In his mind he was already getting the broom out of the closet to sweep up the ashes.

“I should have known all along it wasn’t you,” said Spike, pulling himself off the floor with as much dignity as he could muster. “You’re too uptight and almighty to let loose and have that much fun.”

“Get out,” she barked.

“Or what? You think I’m afraid of you in that body? It’d be worth the migraine just to see the look on your face as I knock you on your ass.” Spike came at her, and she backed away. But Giles had appeared behind her, and was fixing Spike with a deadly glare. Spike quickly tallied the odds and chose survival.

“But lucky for you, I’ve got better things to do,” he said, as if he’d made the decision of his own free will. With one last sneer and a flourish of black leather, Spike vanished back into the depths of the basement.

Buffy paced and fumed, clenching and unclenching her fists as she shot fiery glances at the basement door.

“Are you alright?” Giles asked quietly from the sidelines.

“Did you see that?” she asked incredulously. “He walked all over me—I might as well have a ‘kick me’ sign taped to my back. I totally froze, Giles. I know I’m not the Slayer anymore, but I totally froze! I could have kicked his butt royally, and I let him get away!” She continued to pace, building herself up into a serious rage.

“Is that really the reason you’re upset?” he asked gently.

For a moment she directed that rage against Giles, but his genuine concern softened her and she began to calm down.

“I can’t believe Spike…touched…my body.” She said at last. “I can’t believe Xander couldn’t even control himself for one night! Even after I warned him about the post-slayage urges and everything!”

“Post-slayage urges?” asked Giles, his Watcher’s curiosity surfacing.

“You know…urges,” she said, as if that explained everything. Giles simply raised his eyebrows at her, confused. “After a fight I usually feel really…alive—like a live wire, buzzing with adrenalin. It gets really strong if the big bad gets away during a fight or a chase; then I get all…urgy. Faith never tried to fight it—she thrived on that feeling.”

“Fascinating,” said Giles, nibbling on the earpiece of his glasses. “The rush of adrenalin, even after a fight, makes perfect sense. The Slayer’s life might depend on her ability to regain her energies after a fight…or to boost her energy during a chase. And without a proper outlet for this energy, it redirects itself…” he stopped mid-sentence when he saw the blank look on Buffy’s face and realised she didn’t need a watcher right now. What she needed right now was a friend.

“Sorry,” he said, “That wasn’t much help, was it?”

Buffy smiled wanly back at him and sank into a chair.

“I don’t suppose there’s much I can say that’ll make you feel any better. Except, perhaps, that Spike is hardly likely to go boasting to anyone that he’s slept with Xander. I expect he’s probably as mortified as you are.”

A flicker of satisfaction shone in her large brown eyes. “I’d still like to give him a good throttling next time I see him, though.”

“That, at least, I can help you with,” said Giles, putting his glasses back on. “A bit of training will do wonders to take your mind off things, and rebuild your confidence.”

Buffy looked at him gratefully and led the way into the back room where her training equipment sat patiently awaiting her arrival.

 

 

 

Xander caught up with Anya in front of The Sun Cinemas. She spun on him, laying into him as a large crowd of moviegoers watched with great interest.

“You just couldn’t wait, could you?” she yelled. “We were supposed to make up. There was going to be fantastic reconciliation sex! But the second I turn my back, you run off with the first demon that comes along. And it wasn’t even another woman! Was I so horrible that I made you want to have sex with men?!”

“Anya, please!” Xander said, acutely aware of what the scene looked like to all the passers-by (who’d stopped passing by to stand there and watch). “We can talk about this later—in private.”

“Did you even love me?” Anya asked loudly, ignoring him. “Or was I just a convenience? Someone with handy other-worldly connections and a readily available orifice to stick your…”

“Whoa! Back up there, Ahn,” said Xander, cutting her off. “If I remember right, you’re the one who broke up with me! You’re the one who dumped me out of the blue because you couldn’t deal with the commitments I made with my friends. It’s not like I was cheating on you or going out every night drinking with my buddies—what I do…what I help Buffy do…has kept Sunnydale from becoming ground zero for the end of the world on more than one occasion.”

“Well, Buffy doesn’t need you as much as I do,” she pouted. “Every time you went off on one of your little missions, I was certain you wouldn’t come back. Do you have any idea how much my heart hurt with all that worrying? Do you have any idea the kind of pain I’d be in if someday you didn’t come back?” Anya’s voice cracked and a fat tear rolled down her cheek to her trembling lips.

Xander felt like a heel; he’d never really understood how much she loved him. He’d never considered himself worthy of that kind of love, and here he’d trampled all over it and probably destroyed any chance of recovering it. And maybe, he thought, that was for the best. Maybe she’d be better off with someone who had a shelf life longer than that of cottage cheese.

“Anya—I wish I could say we’ll grow old and wrinkly together, but I can’t. There’s no guarantees in life—you know that—and now that I’m the Slayer, the chances of me growing old at all are pretty slim. But I still love you, hard as it may be to believe right now.”

“You hurt me,” she said softly.

“I know I did,” said Xander. “Believe me, I never wanted to.”

“I can’t just pretend it never happened.”

Xander chewed his bottom lip, but said nothing.

“Maybe we both need some time apart to think about things,” she said.

“Maybe that would be best,” Xander agreed, although he felt a sharp sliver pierce his heart as the tiny ray of hope he had was snuffed out.

“So then, that’s it?” asked Xander. “I feel like we should hug, or at least shake hands or something.”

“Give her a hug!” called out one of the onlookers.

“Do you mind?” said Anya. “This is a private conversation.”

“Could have fooled me,” said a large woman in a small sundress.

Anya sighed heavily and gave Xander a quick, stiff hug. Their audience cheered.

 

 

 

 

Buffy was pretty sure Xander had far more muscles than she did—and right now every single one of them ached. She smiled at her reflection in the steamed-up mirror. She felt better. Exhausted, but relaxed.

Giles had started off her training with the basics, and even though she’d rolled her eyes at him, she was secretly glad he had. Xander’s body didn’t move the way hers did. It didn’t bend the same or respond as quickly. Some of the moves that she used to be able to do without thinking now required a concerted effort, and some things she found she no longer had enough coordination to pull off at all.

She once again discovered a new respect for her watcher. Giles demonstrated each move, then practiced alongside her, and yet he hardly broke a sweat. When she asked him why that was, he laughed a little and said he was used to training with a slayer. Buffy had nearly given up halfway through their workout, and she was sure the only thing that got her through the last fifteen minutes was picturing Xander at the receiving end of each blow. 

Buffy emerged from Giles’ bathroom in a billow of steam, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a baggy, moth-eaten t-shirt she’d taken from Xander’s place. She was still angry with Xander, but at least now she was too exhausted to be furious.

Giles was sitting at his dinner table going through a book that looked too heavy to lift without the aid of a crane. He looked up when she came around the corner.

“Buffy—feeling a bit better?” he asked.

“I feel human again, at least. How do you do it? You look all squeaky clean and lemony fresh.”

“I must confess, I cheated,” said Giles. “I used the shower upstairs.”

“You have a shower up there?” she asked. “How come I’ve never seen it?”

“Because this ridiculous building was designed by Escher—you have to go through the walk-in closet to reach it.”

“Oh,” said Buffy, and she eased herself gently into the chair opposite him. She grunted dramatically as she leaned back against the seat.

“Still sore?” he asked, redundantly.

“My big toe on my left foot…” she said, and winced as she lifted her leg to show him, “…is the only part of me that doesn’t hurt.”

Giles looked at her, his face screwed up in deliberation. Buffy watched the process in fascination. The little vein at his temple throbbed in time with the clenching of his jaw.

“I…I could give you a massage…if-if you’d like,” he said finally, his voice petering out at the end.

“Would you? God, that’d be great!” Buffy immediately jumped up and scurried into the living room, showing none of the stiffness she’d displayed earlier.

Giles smiled to himself—Buffy would always be Buffy, no matter what she looked like on the outside.

By the time he reached the living room, she was already lying on her stomach in front of the fireplace. Her arms pillowed her head and she looked up at Giles, batting her long, dark eyelashes at him.

Funny how he’d never really noticed how long Xander’s lashes were, he thought. Giles shook his head slightly, trying to dislodge thoughts about Xander’s lashes…and the deep, chocolate-brown eyes that peeked through them.

“I don’t think your arms are long enough to reach me from there,” said Buffy.

“Right,” he replied. “Sorry.”

Giles knelt next to her on the floor, but before he could lay a finger on her, Buffy suddenly sat up.

“Let’s do this right,” she said, and promptly pulled the ratty old t-shirt over her head, tossing it onto the couch.

The look of astonishment on Giles’ face made her giggle—made the anger and frustration of the day disappear.

Giles tried not to look at her bare chest, even though, logically, he knew it was Xander’s chest, and not Buffy’s. It was still Buffy inside, though. His eyes slipped and he found himself staring mutely at the place where Buffy’s breasts would have been. He felt the heat rising up from under the collar of his t-shirt, but he couldn’t make himself look away. He was aware that his mouth was moving; yet he was at a total loss for words.

“Get over it, Giles,” she said, teasingly. “I’m a man now, remember? I’m allowed to take my shirt off…Hey! I can even go topless in public! How cool is that?” Giles didn’t answer—he was still too shocked that his slayer had stripped right in front of him.

“Earth to Giles…okaaay…well, I’m gonna lie down now. You just take your time pondering the new nakedness of me.” 

Buffy lay down again, her face turned towards the fireplace to hide her evil grin. It was a while before she felt Giles’ hands prod timidly at her lower back. After a few minutes of ineffectual tickle-light massage, Buffy craned her neck to look at him.

“I won’t break,” she bullied, playfully. “And you’re gonna throw your own back out if you keep working at that angle. If you’re gonna massage me, do it right.”

Something sparked in Giles at the sound of challenge in her voice.

“If you’re sure that’s what you want,” said Giles. He got up and left, leaving Buffy lying there, kicking herself for scaring him away.

He returned a minute later, though, carrying what looked like a bar of soap. He knelt over her, straddling her hips, and Buffy could smell vanilla. She peeked over her shoulder to see him rubbing the bar in his hands.

“It’s a massage bar,” he answered before she could ask. “Vanilla is good for relaxation and the relief of headaches.”

Buffy was about to expound on the many virtues of vanilla, but her train of thought completely derailed when his oiled hands dug into her muscles. She grunted and gasped and moaned as he methodically worked the tension out of her back and neck. It hurt at first, but then she felt her knotted muscles loosening under his hands and she began to enjoy it.

To really enjoy it. A lot. And Little Xander agreed with her. A lot.

…Stupid thing.

After a while Giles ran out of back and neck to massage. If he was going to continue the massage with her on her stomach, then he had nowhere to go but south, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with thighs just yet. The alternative was to have her flip over so he could …massage…her chest.

Now there were images of Buffy’s chest and thighs running rampant in his mind and there was no controlling his body’s reaction to those images—especially when she was lying half-naked underneath him.

And that thought was like throwing gasoline on a fire.

Buffy’s ‘problem’ had gone beyond uncomfortable—she was well into painful as her enormous erection pressed agonizingly against the floor. She felt Giles’ weight lifting and assumed he was finished.

Just in time, she thought, and quickly flipped herself over to relieve the pressure on Little Xander.

Giles was caught off guard. He’d just been shifting himself so she wouldn’t feel how aroused he’d become, when she suddenly turned over. He was temporarily thrown off-balance, and he landed heavily on top of her. His nose bumped hers, and two pairs of eyes, green mirroring brown, blinked at each other, mere inches apart.

It was immediately obvious to both of them that their attraction was mutual. There was a moment when Giles thought he might literally die of embarrassment. His heart banged wildly against his ribs and his brain might as well have shut down for all the good it was doing him. He had no doubt that Buffy would look at him with disgust, like she had when she’d seen him with Olivia. To her he was old and gross, and certainly incapable of natural male responses.

Buffy saw the raw emotions churning behind Giles’ green eyes. She saw the exact moment of mortification and knew he was about to pull back and run for cover.

She couldn’t allow it.

She’d finally received proof that he felt the same way she did, and nothing he could say or do now could take that back. But if she let him slip away now, she knew she’d lose him for good. So, seizing the moment, Buffy swiftly brought her lips up to his and kissed him.

It was, by far, the last thing he expected.

Giles pulled away and saw the hurt look in her big, brown eyes. She wanted this. She wanted him—and God knew he wanted her.

Years’ worth of yearning and repressed love overcame him and Giles brought his mouth back down to hers, urgently begging for her to accept him.

It was Buffy who pulled away this time, and Giles who looked at her with wounded eyes.

“I’m sorry, Buffy,” he said quickly. “I thought you wanted…”

“I do, Giles,” Buffy interjected. “I totally do. But…aren’t you even a little wigged by the whole ‘me being in Xander’ thing?”

Giles rolled off her and propped himself up on an elbow, facing her. “No matter what you look like, you’re still Buffy to me. Granted, the circumstances are a little unusual, but that changes nothing. I’m hardly about to wait ten or twenty years to express my feelings for you—not when you’ve made it clear you feel the same way.”

“But the same sex thing…?”

“Well…it’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man, but I imagine it’s like riding a bicycle—one never forgets how.”

“Hang on! Are you saying you’re gay?” she asked a little more loudly than she’d intended. Giles flinched a bit.

“No. I’m not gay,” he said. “But when I was in college, I…experimented.”

Buffy thought for a moment, during which time Giles held his breath in anticipation of her reaction.

“So…good. At least one of us will know what we’re doing,” she said, and pulled Giles back down on top of her.

Relief coursed through him and his face crinkled in a smile as Buffy attacked him with a barrage of kisses. Soon she was tugging at his shirt, and he let her pull it over his head and toss it across the room.

Her wide mouth curled up in a little smile as her large hands explored the broad, hairy chest before her. It was surreal—seeing Xander’s hands in place of her own. Kind of exciting, too. Little Xander gave a leap in agreement and some instinctual body memory caused her to buck her hips, rocking her groin against Giles’.

“Oh Lord!” he breathed.

Buffy impatiently fumbled with his fly, but she was too nervous to keep her bulky fingers steady. Giles stilled her trembling hands and finished the task for her, standing so he could shed his pants and socks more easily.

Somehow Buffy hadn’t expected him to be going commando, but he was. And with his jeans hastily cast aside, Giles stood before her completely naked and impressively erect. He eyed her warily, knowing she must be comparing him with Riley, and fearing she’d find him wanting.

Buffy got to her feet and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her mouth found his and quelled any further doubts about his worthiness. As her tongue gently swept over his lips, Giles’ hands traced the muscles of her back, up and down—going further down with each pass. Soon his hands found their way under the combined waistbands of Buffy’s sweatpants and boxer shorts. He cupped a buttock in each hand, gently stroking the soft skin with his thumbs.

Buffy moaned and pulled back, ending the kiss. She had far more success removing her own clothes, thanks to the lack of zippers. She kicked the discarded pile of clothing away and allowed Giles to pull her in closer. Their erections rubbed together, making them both groan.

Buffy looked into his storm-green eyes, unsure what to do next. Usually, this bit was a no-brainer, but without the necessary equipment, she didn’t know where to begin.

She looked down to where Little Xander and his new friend were getting better acquainted. There was one thing she knew how to do that didn’t require feminine fixtures, but she was loath to separate the little fellas when they were clearly getting along so well. She waited for one more kiss, and then she slid down onto her knees in front of Giles. 

Giles was about to tell her she shouldn’t feel as if she had to, but changed his mind the second her tongue brushed across the slit of his penis. Buffy looked up at him as a tiny hiss of pleasure escaped his lips. She smiled seductively at him, and for a moment Giles forgot it was Buffy—all he could see was Xander’s face…his chocolate-brown eyes, his dark, scruffy hair, and his kiss-swollen lips, which now encompassed his erection. Giles fought against the panic—he’d have to get used to seeing Buffy like this—had to build on this strange new attraction—if they were going to make this work. He allowed himself to enjoy the sight of her male body and the feel of a man’s touch.

It didn’t take long to lose himself in the sheer physical pleasure she was giving him. He barely had time to warn her when he was about to come. 

Giles collapsed onto the couch to catch his breath. Buffy crawled up next to him and lay her head on his chest, comforted by the rhythmic pounding of his heart. She was still erect, but she was starting to think that was just the usual state of her newly adopted penis.

After a few minutes of recuperation, Giles shifted on the couch, making Buffy grumble in complaint. 

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he said. “You haven’t had your turn yet.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide as Giles gently pushed her so she was lying back on the couch. The warm wetness of his mouth around her erection was bliss beyond description. She had to clutch the fabric of the couch to stop from bucking hard into his mouth. He rolled his tongue around the head of her penis, and then took in as much of it as he could, repeating the move over and over again.

Buffy felt a pressure building in her aching testicles.

“Oh dear God! Oh dear God, Giles! I think I’m gonna die!” she shouted.

Giles chuckled, sending humming vibrations through her cock, which triggered her very first, and very vocal, orgasm as a man. She stared dazedly at the ceiling, her chest heaving in the aftermath, as Giles squeezed up next to her on the couch. They lay together, their bodies tangled in a confusion of limbs.

Buffy’s last thought before dropping off to sleep was that she finally got it—Little Xander wasn’t so stupid after all.


	6. Chapter 6

Buffy stirred in her sleep, feeling stiff and sore and chilly. She cuddled up against the warm mass behind her, and the mass put its arm around her waist and pulled her in closer.

Giles.

Buffy smiled and absently stroked his arm with her fingers. The cold wasn’t so bad. And she had a feeling a little exercise would work out the stiffness.

Speaking of which…

It seemed they’d both woken up with one thing on their minds. Buffy wriggled her bottom against Giles’ “stiffness”, and guided his hand along her body so he could feel her own.

“Good morning,” Giles muttered and nibbled at her earlobe.

“Sure is,” said Buffy, humming happily as he gently stroked her. “Tell me, do you always wake up this…happy?”

“Not always,” he replied. “But I’m feeling particularly inspired this morning.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” she said.

Giles chuckled, his hot breath puffing against her neck, giving her goose bumps.

“Is there something we should be doing about it?” she asked innocently.

“Normally I just take a cold shower…”

“A shower would be nice. But not a cold one,” she said, shivering dramatically.

“Well, you know where the shower is,” said Giles.

“Apparently you keep the best one hidden. I wanna use that one,” she said. “Of course…I could get lost trying to find it. I think you’d better come with me to show me where it is.”

Giles grinned wickedly and they both clamoured off the couch and raced up the stairs to his loft. As she passed through his walk-in closet leading to the secret washroom, Buffy stopped and grabbed a fistful of tweed clothing.

“Remind me later to burn all of these,” said Buffy.

“Why? Do you have something against tweed?” he asked.

“Only that it so doesn’t do that body of yours justice.” Buffy gave his tush a shove, nudging him into the little bathroom.

“It’s a tiny shower stall,” Giles warned.

“So we’ll have to squeeze in close,” she answered. “I don’t have a problem with that—do you?”

“None at all,” he said, and shut the door behind them.

 

 

Xander wandered aimlessly through the campus after sitting in on one of Buffy’s classes. College was definitely not his thing—it sounded like the Prof. was speaking Greek—no…not Greek, he thought. There would be no more ‘Greek’ thoughts going on in his mind.

Guilt was eating away at him. There was nothing more he could do to make things right with Anya, but he at least owed it to Buffy to try and keep up her studies in case they ever did switch back. He’d taken copious amounts of notes in class and did his best to comprehend what he was writing, but he’d need help if he had any hopes of passing her courses. He could only hope Willow would be willing to give him a hand. He doubted she’d do it as a favour to him—not after Spike outed their dirty little secret in front of the entire group—but she might do it as a favour to Buffy.

He was so lost in thought that he literally ran into Willow.

“Hey, Xander,” she said, picking herself up off the ground and brushing leaves and grass off her skirt.

Xander was ready to bolt, but Willow put a hand on his arm, stopping him. He looked at her, fearing she was about to chew him out, and was surprised to find compassion and understanding in her eyes instead.

“Willow,” he said uncertainly. “I, uh…you…hmmm. Nope. Can’t think of a single thing to say. Does ‘sorry’ even begin to cover it?”

“I’m not mad at you, Xander,” she said, smiling kindly. “If you feel like you’ve got to apologise, you should save it for Buffy.”

“But you’re not mad? After what I did with Spike?” he asked with an equal amount of relief and disbelief.

“No, I’m not mad,” she repeated as if she was talking to a three-year-old. “But I thought it would take you a lot longer to figure it out.”

“Figure it out?” he asked, baffled.

“C’mon, Xan. We all knew you’ve been curious ever since Larry came out of the closet. But I know it goes back even farther than that. Heck, I knew you were gay long before I knew I was gay myself!”

“I’m not gay!” Xander barked, drawing the attention of a happily heterosexual couple sitting on a nearby park bench.

“No?” Willow asked. “Then you didn’t enjoy the smoochies with Spike even a little bit?” She’d hit a nerve, and Xander squirmed uncomfortably under her knowing glare.

“It wasn’t…horrible,” he said at last.

Willow smiled smugly; “I knew it!”

“Keep it down, will ya?” he complained, and led her to the shade of a solitary tree where they could talk without being overheard. “It doesn’t seem right that you knew something about me even before I did. And I’m not saying you’re right,” he added hastily.

“Remember when we rented “The Crying Game”?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t even flinch,” she said; as if that were proof enough.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he protested.

“And sometimes, when you think nobody’s watching, I’ve seen you checking out other guys’ butts.”

“That is so not true! When have I ever done that?”

“Oh, you may hide behind a whole lotta macho talk and girl chasing, but you’ve had your crushes. Let’s see…first there was Jesse. Then there was Angel…”

“That’s crazy-talk,” said Xander. “I hated the guy—or don’t you remember me voting him off the island?”

“Then there was Giles…”

“Okay, now you’ve officially gone too far.”

Willow grinned; “I knew you had a thing for him when we heard him singing at the Espresso Pump, and you were all—‘Eww, gross…sexy Giles images in my head!’ You might as well have stamped ‘sexual insecurity’ on your forehead.”

“What about Anya?” Xander asked defensively.

“What about Oz?” she countered. “Just because you’ve had straight relationships doesn’t mean you can’t be gay.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to recruit me,” he said.

“No,” she said seriously. “I just want you to know what you really want before you find yourself married with children and completely miserable.” She gave him a sympathetic half-smile, patted him on the arm and left him to his thoughts.

 

 

It took every drop of courage Xander had to walk into The Magic Box that afternoon. He had to face them sooner or later, and he figured he might as well get it over with.

He noticed with some relief that Anya had already gone home for the day. Buffy and Giles were all geared up for a bit of training, and Willow and Tara waved at him from behind the counter. At least they were smiling at him.

He approached Buffy slowly, as if his feet had other plans.

“Hey, Buffy,” he started, testing the waters.

“Hi,” she replied, offering him no clue as to how she was feeling.

“Umm…can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

Buffy looked over at Giles who gave a quick nod and went into the training room to wait for her. They’d already discussed how they should handle Xander. Buffy couldn’t in good conscience stay mad at him when she was guilty of doing the same thing he’d done. And on more than one count. But she and Giles had decided to keep their budding relationship to themselves for a while, and that meant keeping Xander and the others in the dark.

“What’s up?” she asked casually.

Xander was taken aback by her laidbackedness. Where was the fury? The indignation? The pummelling about the head and neck with a blunt object?

“I…uh…never got the chance to apologise yesterday,” he said, casting his eyes to the floor. He was afraid to look at her and see what he’d seen in the mirror countless times before—a look of shame and disappointment on his own face.

“What? You mean about Spike?” she said flippantly. “No big. It’s not like you’ve done any permanent damage to my body. You haven’t—right?”

“No,” he said quickly. “No damage done. Your body’s damageless, I swear!”

“Then, like I said—no big. We’re gonna be stuck in these bodies for a long time, and there are…things…that a person needs, no matter what body they’re in.”

Xander grinned broadly, unable to believe he was getting off so easy.

“Just promise—no tattoos, no piercings without my approval, and use a bit of common sense. And by that, I mean condoms. And the pill—don’t forget the pill.”

“Duh! Of course I won’t forget,” Xander said and felt his insides churn. He’d totally forgotten.

“Good,” she said, “’cause if you think the post-slayage urges are strong now, you should feel them when my real hormones are unleashed. So…you gonna join us in a bit of training?”

Xander was sure all his blood had pooled in his feet. Those were mild urges? He shuddered to think how much stronger they might get. He could only pray he’d be able to catch up on the pill-taking thing so he’d never find out.

“Xander?” she asked again. “Training?”

“Yeah—training. Good idea,” he said numbly, and followed her into the converted backroom of the store.

Giles stood waiting by the pommel horse. His smile slipped when he saw Xander coming in after Buffy, but he immediately fixed a new one in its place.

“Xander—so good of you to join us,” said Giles, trying to sound genuine. It was going to be hard to reign in his feeling for Buffy now that the current owner of her body was present.

Xander took off the pink hoodie of Buffy’s he’d put on that morning and stood in front of Giles wearing nothing but a skin-tight tank top and sweatpants. Giles looked at Xander until he realized he was doing more than just looking. He nervously removed his glasses and began furiously wiping them; praying Xander hadn’t noticed the ogling.

“You okay, Giles?” asked Xander, picking up on a weird vibe from the older man.

“What? Yes—fine,” he stammered.

Buffy covered her mouth with her hand to hide her giggles. She could just imagine the twisted mess of thoughts going through Giles’ head right now.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Giles said, switching to business mode. “Xander—let’s start with you. From what Buffy’s told me, your instincts and reactions are fine, so we’ll concentrate on strategy and technique.”

They faced off, Giles coaching Xander on which counter strikes work best against the various types of attack. Xander caught on quickly, and soon they were moving fluidly, in a well-choreographed sequence of attacks and retreats.

“Okay, now I’m going to throw something new into the mix and we’ll see how you handle it,” said Giles.

They continued as before for a while, then Giles snatched a training blade from off the wall and lunged at Xander. Xander reacted instantly and violently, sidestepping the attack then grabbing Giles by the arm and hurling him halfway across the room.

Giles landed hard on his back a few feet shy of the mats. The wind was knocked out of him and he lay still, trying to convince his lungs that it was safe to re-inflate.

Buffy and Xander flew to his side, fighting each other in an attempt to get to him first.

“God, Giles—I’m so sorry,” said Xander, fanning him with his hands as if that might somehow help.

Giles grunted, then gasped in a lungful of air. Buffy sighed in relief (although she wouldn’t have minded doing the mouth-to-mouth thing).

“You okay?” she asked.

“Never better,” Giles wheezed sarcastically. “Give me a hand up?”

Buffy and Xander once again battled to be the first one to get to him, but Buffy won, and with his arm slung over her shoulder, she helped him to his feet.

“I’m so sorry,” Xander reiterated. “I just did what felt right—I had no idea…”

“It’s quite alright, Xander,” Giles said with a slight grimace as he flexed his back and neck muscles. “I should have had my padding on—I forgot you don’t yet know your own strength.”

“So we’re finished training, then?” Buffy asked hopefully.

“We are,” said Giles, indicating Xander and himself. “But you still have your training to do. It’s crucial that you’re both combat ready.”

“I don’t see why,” Buffy complained. “Anya said it’d be at least ten years before I have to go back to slaying things.”

“Yes, but in the meantime I’m sure Xander would appreciate it if you kept his body alive. This is the Hellmouth after all—and even if you’re no longer the Slayer, you need to be able to defend yourself.”

“Fine,” she agreed grumpily. “But I expect a big, juicy reward later.”

Giles shot her a warning glare, but Xander obviously didn’t pick up on the innuendo.

“How come you never trained me, then?” asked Xander. “I mean, before I became all Buffy-like.”

Giles paused—he had no good answer to that question. “I suppose I really should have,” he admitted. “If you’d like, we can continue our training once you get your body back. I know it hardly makes up for lost time, but better late than never.”

“You’re on,” said Xander, and he gathered up his pink hoodie on his way out the door.

Buffy waited until Xander was long gone before turning to Giles. She smiled at him playfully.

“It was really weird seeing you fight me,” she said, casually making her way over to him. “It was kind of sexy, too. Is that wrong?”

“Finding two people locked in a sweaty embrace sexy? Yes. It’s very wrong. But not as wrong as my wanting to tear off Xander’s clothes so I could finally see what you look like naked,” said Giles.

“Ooh…you win—yours was way more wrong.”

They smiled at each other like the new lovers they were and Buffy slid her hand up the front of his sweat-dampened t-shirt.

“You should take this off,” she said. “You could catch a chill.”

“Not so fast,” Giles chided, halting her hands as they yanked at his shirt. “Training first. Fun later.”

Buffy grumbled under her breath and trudged off to the mats to do her stretches. Giles watched her as she flexed and stretched, remembering how her new body looked naked and imagining her doing those moves that way now. His mind drifted off to a happy place and stayed there until he became aware of Buffy standing in front of him, arms akimbo and looking amused.

“Is your head okay?” she teased.

“Yes, it’s fine. Just got a little distracted.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied. “You sure you don’t want to skip ahead to the fun?”

He fished out one of the stern looks he kept in his repertoire for just such occasions. Buffy sighed dramatically in defeat.

“So what’s on the menu for tonight’s workout?” she asked. “Do you want to see if I can throw you as far as Xander did? Or will it be jazzercise?” She bounced energetically on the balls of her feet until Giles grabbed her to hold her steady. She was making him dizzy.

“I thought we ought to work on balance and coordination—the areas you’re weakest in now that you’re…”

“Guy-ish? Xandery? Sexually re-proportioned?” Buffy added helpfully.

“Yes—all of the above,” he said. “Your centre of balance has shifted from what you’re used to… I think if you can find Xander’s centre, the rest will fall into place.”

“Find my centre…I can do that,” she said confidently.

“I want you to put your arms out at your sides,” Giles instructed and Buffy obediently followed his directions. “Good. Now close your eyes and lift your left leg straight out ahead of you.”

“Easy-peasey,” she boasted, but mere seconds after lifting her leg, she toppled over and banged her elbow against the pommel horse. She cursed quietly and stood up again.

“I don’t think Xander’s body has a centre,” she whined.

“That was only the first try. Do it again, and this time I’ll support you until I think you’ve found your balance.”

Buffy nodded and closed her eyes. Standing behind her, Giles supported her outstretched arms with an almost imperceptible pressure as she lifted her leg off the floor.

“Concentrate,” Giles said softly into her ear. “Focus on your balance…imagine a string running through your entire body, connecting all points in a single knot. Find that knot and keep it steady in your mind. That is your centre.” Giles stepped back and let go of her arms. This time she managed to stay balanced and keep her leg up until she got tired of holding it there.

Buffy opened her eyes and saw Giles watching her with frank admiration.

“Not bad, huh?” she said, beaming at him.

“Not bad at all,” Giles agreed. “Now let’s see if you can put it to use. We’ll try some basic moves, but this time, remain focused on your centre.”

They went through the same routine they’d done in their first session and discovered that Buffy’s performance was much improved. She managed to get through the whole workout without acquiring any new bruises, and even though she was tired, she wasn’t as strained.

When they’d finished training, Buffy plopped down on the couch. Giles joined her, laying his head back against the soft cushions. He closed his eyes and sighed contentedly.

“What’s that God-awful smell?” asked Buffy.

“Us,” Giles replied, and they both grinned.

“How about a hot, sudsy bath?” she asked. “I’ve got a new tub toy you can play with.”

“Amazing,” said Giles. “You’ve only been a man for a couple of days and you’re already starting to think like one.”

 

 

Xander read and reread the little pink pamphlet and still had no idea what he was supposed to do. He was so tired—emotionally and physically—that he couldn’t make head or tails out of the stupid instructions. He was starting to think they’d been translated into English from Japanese via French, Tagalog and Ancient Sumerian.

It felt like he hadn’t slept in days, so he logically concluded that it must have been days since he’d slept. And if he hadn’t slept since he became Buffy, then he must have been Buffy for days by now. And if he hadn’t taken a pill since he’d become Buffy…

Xander furrowed his brow in an attempt to do the math. It had to’ve been three days at least—maybe four. He flipped through the little pink pamphlet again, feeling like someone was jabbing him between the eyes with a hot poker. Why did they have to make the print on these things so tiny?

In a fit of frustration, Xander ripped up the annoyingly pink pamphlet and threw it into the wastebasket next to his bed.

Screw it, he thought, popping four little colour-coded pills out of the ‘discreet and foolproof’ dispenser and swallowed them with a gulp of water. He sat on the bed, waiting—as if they might instantly make him feel different. He was almost disappointed when nothing happened.

He looked out the window and watched the sun go down.

Time to patrol.

But he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. Digging through Buffy’s closet, Xander pulled out the loosest, least sexy clothes he could find, in the drabbest colours he could find and headed out the door. 

The second he stepped outside he knew it was going to be one of those nights.

“Spike. Great,” he said, and pushed past the blonde vampire. Spike strode alongside him.

“We still have some unfinished business, Slayer,” said Spike.

“I’m not Buffy, and we both know you know it,” said Xander.

“True—you’re not Buffy, but you’ve got her body. Way I figure it, this may be the only chance I get to shag a slayer. After all, you were willing enough last night.”

Last night? To Xander it felt like days ago.

“Yeah, well, last night I really wasn’t myself,” said Xander.

“Still aren’t,” Spike reasoned.

“I’m me enough to find you repulsive and twisted and evil. God! I can’t believe I had sex with something that doesn’t even have a pulse!”

“You weren’t complaining last night. As I recall, it was you had most of the fun. I’m still waiting for my dues.” Spike smirked, his eyes glittering in the soft moonlight.

“Get your dues somewhere else—I’m busy,” said Xander, picking up the pace. Spike trotted along beside him.

“’S alright,” he said. “I can wait till you’re done.”

Xander rolled his eyes and was about to say something exceptionally witty that he’d practised just in case he ever needed a really good come-back, when an extremely hairy demon intervened. 

It reminded Xander of a Wookie, except it had only one eye and a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth that was so large it practically bisected its head.

Xander forgot all about Spike and dodged a paw-full of dagger-like claws that seemed to appear from out of nowhere.

It was a helluva lot stronger than the vampires he’d faced. And faster, too. He used some of his training to set the Wookie up for a fall—and it worked—but it was back on its feet before Xander could go in for the kill.

Its renewed attack was more than Xander was prepared to deal with. He saw a bone-white claw slice through his sweatshirt—felt the hot, jagged ripping of his flesh—and he was suddenly on the ground staring up at the sky as an impossible number of teeth descended towards his face.


	7. Chapter 7

Something long, metal and extremely sharp whirred through the air, and the razor-like teeth suddenly disappeared from view, along with the Wookie’s entire head. Xander’s hand wiped at the goopy gore on his shirt. It glowed a faint orange and smelled bizarrely like cotton candy.

“Bloody amateur,” said Spike with a smirk. Xander watched him tuck the sword back into its hiding place in his duster, then lean against a tree to light a cigarette.

“Well…? Get up, then,” said Spike, when Xander hadn’t moved.

“I can’t,” Xander admitted, turning his face away from the smug-faced vampire.

“C’mon, Slayer. It was only a little scratch,” Spike goaded.

Xander didn’t answer. He didn’t want Spike to hear how afraid he was.

“Go on,” said Spike insistently. “Get up.”

Xander just lay there. He couldn’t speak now even if he wanted to. His throat was too tight with fear. He couldn’t feel anything from the waist downward, and the numbness was spreading fast.

Spike was torn. While the larger part of him was telling him to just leave (and good riddance to him), there was a smaller but more persistent part of him that really did care if Xander died. He fought to squelch the angel on his shoulder, but the annoying little git won out.

“Can you move at all?” Spike asked with reluctant compassion.

Xander nodded, proving that he could at least move his neck, and chanced a look in Spike’s direction. “I can’t feel anything below the waist,” he answered, his voice shaky.

“’S’okay,” said Spike, trying not to let his concern show too much. “Just hang on to me, an’ I’ll get you somewhere safe, okay?”

Spike picked him up effortlessly, and Xander clung to his neck as they raced through the cemetery at top speed.

“Need to go to a hospital,” Xander choked out.

“Yeah, ‘cause they’ll have the anti-venom for Kakmik demon poisoning,” Spike replied snidely.

“Then where are we going?” asked Xander.

“My place. I’ve got something there that should do the trick.”

Xander was past arguing—his fingers and lips were starting to tingle and he was having a hard time just keeping his grip on Spike’s neck. He doubted if they’d make it to a hospital anyway.

Spike banged the crypt door open and hurried to the stone sarcophagus at its centre. There he gently lay Xander down before rushing off again.

Xander stared up at the dark, cobwebby ceiling, completely immobile, and the frightening thought occurred to him that it could very well be the last thing he’d ever see.

Spike suddenly appeared above him, brandishing a clear glass full of thick, black liquid that looked and smelled like tar.

“Drink this,” Spike ordered.

“What is it? It smells awful,” Xander complained.

“It’s the antidote, you daft git—it’s supposed to smell awful. Now drink it before I change my mind and drag you back outside and leave you to rot.”

Xander tried to raise himself as best he could, but Spike still had to cradle his head and pour the vile fluid down his gullet. Xander held his breath and swallowed as much of it as he could in one gulp. The liquid left his mouth feeling slick and oily, and Xander thought for sure he was going to throw it back up again. He managed to keep it down, though, and almost immediately the tingling in his lips and fingers began to abate.

Spike paced around the sarcophagus restlessly. He was confused—here was the Slayer, lying helpless and completely numb in his crypt. He could take him now; drink his hot, sweet blood until there was nothing left but a dried shell where a slayer used to be. That would bring his tally up to three. His name would be legendary. And because of the Kakmik venom his chip wouldn’t even fire off.

He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He kept thinking about their frenzied romp in the cemetery the night before. Sure, he’d thought it was Buffy at the time, but he had to admit it was a helluva ride. Probably wouldn’t have been as good if it actually had been Buffy. Xander was so eager, so…unrestrained. It was like the person laid out before him on the slab of stone incorporated the best parts of both of them—Buffy’s strength and beauty combined with Xander’s passion and curiosity. 

Xander’s foot twitched, and Spike stopped pacing and stood over him again. He chewed his lip anxiously, waiting for another sign of improvement. And Xander didn’t disappoint. His entire body jerked violently, then he suddenly sat bolt upright, swinging his legs over the side of the sarcophagus.

“So it’s working then?” asked Spike unnecessarily.

“Incredible! I’m completely better,” he said, a touch of awe in his voice. “You saved my life! You could have killed me—you could have done anything to me and I couldn’t have done a damn thing to stop you, but you saved me!”

“Don’t mention it,” said Spike.

“But you could have…”

“I said, don’t mention it,” Spike bit back. “I mean it…if I find out you blabbed to all your goody-goody friends that the Big Bad’s gone soft, I’ll make you wish I’d killed you while you still couldn’t feel it.”

“Don’t get all uptight—I just wanted you to know how grateful I am,” said Xander, flicking a stray blonde hair out of his eyes so he could get a better look at his unlikely hero.

“If you really want to thank me, you’ll let me pick up where we left off last night.”

There was a moment of absolute silence in the dark, dank crypt. Xander cast his eyes to the floor, and without looking up, he answered: “Alright.”

 

 

Buffy stood naked in the middle of Giles’ living room, waiting for him. She stretched, enjoying the deep pull of her new muscles. The slight burn as she worked out some of the tension made her feel more human and alive than she’d felt in years.

On his way back from the bathroom, Giles stopped to watch her for a moment, leaning against the support wall between the kitchen and dining area. She’d lit candles, and their flickering orange glow reflected warmly off the contours of her body. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

Buffy nearly jumped out of Xander’s skin.

“Geez, Giles! Make some noise when you creep up on people—you took two years off my life.”

“Sorry, darling—couldn’t resist.” Giles squeezed her tightly and nuzzled her neck. 

Buffy squirmed and squealed in a very un-Xander-like fashion, then slipped out of his arms and ran laughing through his apartment to the bathroom. She stopped dead in her tracks just inside the door and stared speechless at the scene before her. Giles, too, had lit candles—dozens of them—and steam rose from the hot, foamy water in the claw-foot tub. Soft, relaxing music emanated from a little boom box next to the sink.

“I thought you might like something a little more…”

“…romantic,” Buffy finished, and pulled Giles into a thoroughly grateful kiss. “It’s beautiful. Thank-you.”

“My pleasure,” he said. “Or, at least I hope it will be.”

Buffy took Giles’ hand and led him over to the steaming tub.

“You’re wearing clothes again,” Buffy complained. “You’ve got to stop doing that.” With a wide grin, she grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and slowly pulled it over his head, leaving his hair rumpled in what she decided was a very sexy way.

His track pants were discarded in the blink of an eye revealing a hockey-strength jock strap. Buffy raised her eyebrows at him.

“Do you really think I’d train with a slayer without a little protection?” Giles defended. “Besides, it’s proven to be handy in situations where I’ve needed to hide my…emotions.” He flushed a dark pink, but thankfully the dim lights and the steam masked it.”

“You shouldn’t hide your…emotions, Giles. You should set them free,” she said. “Now,” she added demandingly.

Giles obeyed, letting the protective garment drop to the tiled floor, and he stepped into the bathtub. The porcelain gave a protesting squeak under his foot as he turned to offer Buffy a hand in. She took it and joined him. The bath foam tickled, fizzing and popping against their skin as they lowered themselves into the water. It was luxurious, and they sighed in unison, which made them both giggle.

Buffy lay back, her head pillowed on a towel draped over the rim of the tub.

“You’re too far away,” she whined. “I feel like cuddling.” Buffy held out her arms to Giles and he looked at her oddly. “What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Just revelling in your beauty—which, given that you look like Xander at the moment, came as a bit of a shock to me.” Giles turned around and lay back against Buffy, his head cradled against her broad chest. She began to massage his temples and he closed his eyes, allowing himself to go limp against her body.

They stayed like that for a while, and Giles, lulled by the heat, the massage, and the soft rhythmic dripping of the tap, nearly dozed off.

“What’s it like?” asked Buffy quietly, causing him to stir out of his light nap.

“What’s what like?”

“Being with a woman,” she said. “I’ve been a man for a few days now, and I’ve done pretty much everything a guy does. But… I’ll never know what it’s like to feel myself inside another person’s body. I’ll never understand the one thing that really separates men from women.”

Giles thought for a moment. “You want to know what it’s like? I’m not sure I can really explain. It’s not about power—although for some men I suppose it might be. For me, though, it’s a feeling of absolute surrender…like striving to reach something perfect that remains forever beyond your grasp… But there’s no reason why you can’t find out for yourself,” he said, twisting in her arms so he could look up at her.

“If you’re suggesting Anya, then can I just say ‘nuh-uh’? Besides, I might be curious, but that doesn’t mean I want to be with anyone else. I’m strictly a one-man kind of guy.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Giles. “But I wasn’t suggesting Anya. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

“Then you mean…?” she said, catching on.

“I’d be willing to give it a try, if you’d like,” he said.

“Isn’t that sort of painful?” she asked with a hint of worry.

“Not if it’s done right,” he assured her. “I can walk you through it.”

Buffy didn’t want to appear overly eager, but the idea of being inside Giles was seriously turning her on, and the evidence to that fact was pressing hard against Giles’ back.

“You would do that for me?” she asked.

“Not just for you,” he said. “We’ve been handed an opportunity here. If you were to suddenly find yourself back in your own body tomorrow, wouldn’t you spend the rest of your life wondering? And it’s a chance for me to try something I’ve never done, with someone I trust and love.”

Buffy blinked at him, her long, dark lashes batting away the welling tears. “Y-you love me?” she sputtered.

“Do you even need to ask?” he said, and gave her hand a squeeze under the sudsy water.

 

 

Spike kept circling Xander, a mystified expression on his face.

“’Alright’?” he said with disbelief. “No fuss, no bother, just ‘alright’?”

“You want me to swoon from shock or slap you across the face?” asked Xander. “I said yes. Now are we gonna do this or was that all just a lot of talk?” Xander lay back on the stone slab, flung his arms open and waited.

“Don’t think I won’t,” said Spike. He leapt onto the sarcophagus and crouched over Xander who lay passively blinking up at him.

“Well then?” said Xander. “Ravish me already.”

“I will…just give me a second.” Spike bent down and tried to kiss him, but Xander’s apparent apathy stalled him mid-way. “You gonna help me out here?” he asked. “Or are you just gonna lie there all night?”

Xander smiled up at him coyly. “A girl needs a little romance. Woo me.”

“What you?”

“Woo me,” Xander said again. “Make me feel like a woman.”

Spike stifled a large grin so that only a shadow of it flickered across his face. Xander was proving to be full of surprises.

“You want me to tell you you’re beautiful? That when I look at you all I can think about is how incredible it felt to be inside you?” Spike said huskily.

“It’d be a start,” said Xander, tilting his mouth up towards the vampire seductively.

“Heaven help me, Slayer—you’re all I can think about these days,” said Spike, warming up to the game and only marginally aware that he was telling the truth. “When I close my eyes and go to sleep I see your face…taste your lips on mine. And I swear, if I concentrate hard enough I can almost feel your soft skin under my fingers.”

Xander squirmed restlessly under him, aching to have Spike’s fingers on his soft skin. Spike dipped lower so their bodies nearly touched. His lips parted slightly as he breathed in Xander’s scent, and Xander let out a tiny little whimper.

“May I kiss you now, Slayer?” asked Spike with a glint in his icy, blue eyes. Xander nodded helplessly.

Spike inched his mouth closer to Xander’s, drawing out the moment until the suspense had them both trembling. Spike nudged Xander’s lips with his own—nudged them again, then brought their lips together softly in a teasingly sweet kiss.

Xander responded with equal gentleness, bringing his small hands up to comb through Spike’s blond hair. His fingers toyed with the silky locks, then trailed down to the nape of his neck where they traced diminutive patterns against the cool, tender skin.

Between timid kisses and pleading caresses, their clothes started disappearing piece by piece. Flush with anticipation, Xander was soon lying naked on the cold stone surface, breathing hard as Spike’s cool tongue mapped the contours of his body.

“Ooh…that spot—go back to that spot,” Xander instructed between heaving breaths.

“What, here?” asked Spike, retracing his tongue over the miniature peak of his pelvis. Xander moaned heartily in response.

“Found a good bit, have I Slayer?” Spike teased.

“Less talk—your tongue should be doing other things right now.” Xander frowned playfully at him. And as Spike smiled in return, their eyes locked, and a spark of something more than sexual passed between them. Without a word the mood was changed. A storm of emotion churned behind Spike’s eyes, turning them a steel grey. Xander’s eyes widened and his heart sent wave after wave of blood rushing through his body—pounding in his ears; throbbing between his legs.

Spike pulled himself up, covering Xander’s body with his own, and lay claim to his mouth. This time there were no power struggles or childish games between them. This time the connection was real and went far deeper than either of them expected.

Xander curled his legs around Spike’s and Spike slid up inside him with an ease that made them moan into each other’s mouths. Their flesh melded, their bodies becoming one as they rocked together in a silent embrace in the dark crypt.

Spike pulled back enough to watch Xander’s face, sweet and vulnerable in the heat of the moment. When Xander began moaning rhythmically with every thrust, Spike knew he was holding nothing back and it shocked him to think Xander trusted him so completely.

“Oh…oh God, Spike!” Xander yelled, feeling the hot flood of his orgasm sweep through him. 

Spike groaned as slayer-strength muscles spasmed around his shaft, Xander’s juices making the tight passage slick. He knew he couldn’t hold out much longer—he could feel the slow building of his own orgasm and he thrust more urgently to bring it on.

It was Xander’s turn to watch in fascination at the pleasure-contorted expression on his undead lover’s face. He knew exactly what Spike was feeling, and just knowing that he was the cause of it started the deep tingling all over again.

‘Uhh…uhn—Slayer,” Spike grunted.

“Say my name,” said Xander.

“I did.”

“No—you called me ‘Slayer’. Say my name,” he pleaded.

“Xander,” Spike breathed, and as the name rolled off his tongue, it sent a shock of excitement straight to his groin. “Xander!” he gasped again. “Oh…sweet Xander!” Then he lost all ability to speak. Mindless grunts and moans emanated from his mouth in a long, mindless stream as his orgasm struck full force.

“That was…that was just…” said Xander, lost for words.

“Couldn’t agree more,” Spike said, easing himself off Xander so they could lie side by side. Xander threw his arm over Spike’s pale chest and drew himself up close.

“It’s weird,” said Xander.

“This is something you’ve only just realized?” Spike teased.

Xander smacked his arm in mock annoyance. “No. What I mean is, I normally just wanna roll over and fall asleep after sex. But right now I have this weird urge to cuddle and talk.”

Spike chuckled deep in his throat and said; “If that’s what you want, then we’ll cuddle for a while. But tell anyone…”

“I know—slow, painful death—yadda, yadda, yadda.”

 

 

Buffy groaned, fighting the powerful need to push hard into Giles. The sensation of his tight ring of muscle sheathing her cock made her want to weep in ecstasy. She kept her thrusts shallow and slow, yearning for more, but afraid to take it.

Giles could see the strain showing on her face and knew exactly what was going on in her mind.

“It’s alright, Buffy,” he said soothingly, “Let it go—you’re not the slayer anymore—you won’t hurt me.”

With a whimper of relief, Buffy allowed herself to give in to her urges and she pumped harder and faster into his tight opening. The delicious friction brought her to the point of orgasm quickly and with a joy bordering on delirium. Sweaty once more, and with a smile as big as the Cheshire Cat’s, Buffy lowered herself onto Giles’ chest.

Despite the discomfort, Giles didn’t make her move—he knew she’d want to stay inside him for as long as she could.

“You do realize that I shall have to move out of this apartment now,” said Giles, lazily dragging the backs of his fingers up and down her chest.

“Why’s that?” she asked, once her breathing had slowed to something verging on normal.

“After the ruckus you just made, I’ll never be able to look my neighbours in the eye again.” He grinned at her, and she grinned back, batting her big, brown eyes up at him innocently. 

“Then you’re either gonna have to move a lot, or your neighbours are just gonna have to learn to deal,” she said.

“Never liked the neighbours much anyways,” said Giles, and he planted a soft kiss on her forehead.


	8. Chapter 8

Giles awoke the next morning to find that Buffy had tucked him neatly under the covers. He turned his head, hoping to watch her sleeping soundly beside him, but sadly his bed was Buffy-free. There was a note on her pillow, and he pulled on his glasses to read it.

“Hey, Sleepyhead,” it read. “Xander called (I swear you could sleep through an apocalypse!). He wanted to meet me for breakfast to go over the school/work thing. I didn’t have the heart to wake you up, ‘cause you were doing that cute little mumbly-sleepy thing. I shouldn’t be too long, though, so I’ll meet you at the store for a proper good-morning smooch.

“Hugs and kisses, Buffy.”

Giles read it again and smiled—he could hear her voice in the words, and he could almost picture her tiptoeing across the bedroom to place the note on her pillow. With a feeling of optimism he rarely enjoyed, Giles set about getting ready for the day.

 

 

Buffy met Xander at the Dunkin Donuts at an ungodly hour of the morning. The other customers in the shop looked like frazzled, workaholic zombies—a genuine possibility in this town, Buffy thought. Xander was looking more than a little zoned himself. There were dark smudges under his eyes, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in years. And yet, he was emanating an air of contentment and confidence—two things Buffy never really connected with Xander before.

“What happened to you?” asked Buffy once she’d settled down with her jelly-filled and java. “You look like you’ve bonded with your inner Buddha.”

“I nearly died last night,” said Xander, grinning madly.

“Glad to see you’re coping,” Buffy said warily.

“It’s more than that,” he said enthusiastically. “I feel liberated—like my whole life’s been nothing but a dream, and I only just woke up. And in a weird way, I have you to thank for it. If we hadn’t switched places, I’d have slept my whole life away.”

“I know what you mean,” she said, his excitement rubbing off on her. “It took a Freaky Friday to make me realize I was totally not meant to be with Riley. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this free—this happy. God, my life would have been a complete lie if I’d stayed with him.”

“That’s exactly it!” said Xander. “I think, maybe, this all happened for a reason. It was just meant to be.” 

They continued to talk, happily chowing down on doughnuts and slurping coffee. In the booth behind them a scrawny-legged, sun-burned man wearing Hawaiian print shorts and a golf shirt that in no way matched, leaned over to whisper to his female companion.

“Have you heard enough?” the man asked.

Anya nodded, wiping her nose on a tissue-thin napkin. It wasn’t up to the task, though, so she plucked a thick wad of them out of the dispenser and used most of them to sop up the various forms of wetness on her face.

The little man tipped his head to one side sympathetically, then took her hand and disapparated with her. They re-apparated inside her apartment where Anya immediately sank down into a chair and buried her face in her hands.

“My poor, young Anyanka,” said Bobrachnilothtot, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “I did it for your own good, my little pumpkin—I could see he wasn’t right for you.”

Anya sniffed loudly and lifted her chin defiantly.

“Would you like me to smite him for you, sweet-pea?” he asked kindly.

Anya considered it for a moment before shaking her head. “No,” she said wetly. “Somehow I don’t think that’ll make me feel any better.”

“I could smite him a little bit…?” he suggested, trying to perk her up.

“Thanks, Bob, but no. I know I feel pretty crappy right now, and I also look like a sick raccoon with the runny mascara and the puffiness and the drippy nose…but it’s not really his fault, is it?”

“Let me at least leave him in that girl’s body until I get back from Florida,” he pleaded.

Anya smiled at him. “I appreciate the offer, but things are just too weird like this. Besides, Buffy saved my life a few times, and her watcher pays my salary.”

“Very well, kitten, but remember that Marcy and I always have the spare bedroom made up if you ever need a place to stay. You know how Marcy loves having company—she’d be offended if you didn’t come to visit…even in your human form.”

Anya nodded and gave him a brave smile. With a little puff of smoke and a few greenish sparks, he disapparated, leaving her alone in her quiet apartment. Anya blew her nose, then made her way to the fridge to see if there was any consolation chocolate ice cream to soothe her.

 

 

Xander was heading to his first class of the day when he began to feel a teeny bit sleepy. He didn’t think anything of it, considering he hadn’t slept in days—he figured even a Slayer had to start feeling a bit punchy after going that long without catching some zees. 

But by the time he reached the classroom and took his seat next to Willow, he had to struggle to keep his eyes open. With his pen poised over his scribbler ready to take down every word the Professor had to say, Xander promptly drifted blissfully off to sleep…

…and awoke to find himself lying on the couch in the training room of The Magic Box. He sat up and looked around, confused; wondering how he’d managed to get there in his sleep. It took him a minute to realize that he was back in his own body.

Xander let out a whoop of joy and bounced to his feet. He prodded his body, making sure everything was where he left it. It all checked out—everything was just like he remembered, right down to the old familiar aches and pains. And even those didn’t bother him—he had his body back! With a quick check to make sure he was alone, Xander did a little celebratory Snoopy dance.

He looked around again, this time hoping to find someone to tell, but he was still alone. He looked at his watch (his own watch, on his own wrist) and realized that the store wouldn’t even be open for another half an hour. Disappointed, Xander wandered out of the training room into the store to wait for Giles and Anya to show up. This kind of news needed an audience.

 

 

Buffy had decided to take advantage of the early morning quiet to get in some solitary training. She let herself into The Magic Box with the key Giles had cut for her, and she headed straight for the training room. Looking at the silent equipment in the dark room made her think of large, sleeping animals. Sleeping sooo peacefully…it seemed a shame to turn on the lights. 

Suddenly the couch began to look very inviting. It couldn’t hurt if she lay down for a few minutes, she reasoned, and she closed her eyes. Not even a nap, really—just a short break to rest her eyes. It wasn’t as if the equipment was going anywhere, she rationalized. Besides, it would be much more fun to train with Giles.

Having handily talked herself out of exercising, Buffy climbed onto the couch, fluffing the cushions under her head. She was asleep before her head made a dent in them.

She woke up to find herself in the middle of one of her worst nightmares. She was in her Romantic Lit. class, halfway through a lecture, with no idea what was going on. Willow nudged her, gesturing with her eyebrows towards the Professor, who was looking right at her.

“Ms. Summers?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m awake…I mean…what was the question?”

“We were discussing the works of Shelley and Coleridge, but the question seems to be whether or not you intended to join us,” he said humourlessly.

Buffy felt the eyes of everyone in the classroom turn to stare at her, and she wanted to get up and run out of the room. “My bad—haven’t had a whole lotta sleep lately. Sorry,” she apologised.

“Ms. Summers, this is a second year English course. Please humour me and use the language properly.”

Buffy felt the heat rise to her cheeks and thought she might die of shame. Thankfully the Prof. let it drop at that and turned the conversation back to Coleridge. She looked to Willow for support, but she was frowning at her.

“I thought you were taking this seriously, Xander,” she whispered when the Prof. had turned the other way. “I can’t believe you fell asleep!”

“Willow, it’s me—Buffy!” she whispered back, eliciting dirty looks from the two guys in the row in front of them. “I just switched back!”

Willow peered deep into her eyes and seemed to find what she was looking for, because she grabbed her arm and grinned. Buffy grinned back, barely suppressing a happy squeal. When they looked up, the Prof was glaring at them and continued to glare at them until they solemnly faced forward and wiped the grins off their faces.

 

 

 

Back in The Magic Box, Xander was pacing excitedly in the darkness waiting for someone to show up. He kept looking at his watch (still his own watch, on his own wrist) thinking time must somehow be running backwards. When ten o’clock rolled around and Anya hadn’t shown up to open the store, Xander started to worry.

At five after, the jangling sound of keys alerted him to Giles’ arrival, and Xander hurried over, yanking the door open before Giles had a chance to fit his key in the lock. With a show of impatience, Xander ushered Giles into the dark store, practically bubbling over with his good news.

“Hey, Giles! What took you so long?” Xander asked with a hyper little bounce. “I’ve been waiting here forever!”

Giles smiled in what Xander thought was an unusual way, and reached behind the counter to switch on the lights. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, “but I think I know how to make it up to you. Come here.”

Without a second thought, Xander bounced over to him, his mind focused on spilling the news. He didn’t notice the hungry look in the older man’s eyes. He didn’t stop to wonder why Giles was holding his hand out to him that way. And by the time Giles’ arms circled his waist, pulling him in close enough to see the speck of brown in his green eyes, Xander was too shocked to react.

Giles leaned in close to his ear, and Xander suddenly felt very foolish—Giles wasn’t coming on to him; he just wanted to whisper something in his ear. Xander strained to hear Giles’ softly uttered words:

“I can still feel you inside me.”

Xander’s breath caught in his throat, trapped there by his rapidly pounding heart, which seemed to have grown too large for his chest. Before he could form a coherent thought, Giles caught his earlobe between his lips and nibbled gently at the soft skin. Xander couldn’t help responding to the stimulus, feeling tiny sparks of excitement all through his body, and somehow a low groan managed to bypass the roadblock in his throat.

Warm, pliant lips captured his own, and Xander didn’t struggle. Instead, he trailed his tongue along Giles’ lips and proceeded to satisfy his curiosity. This kiss was so different from the ones he’d shared with Spike. For one thing, Giles had body heat—and a whole lot of it. Also, now that Xander was back in his own body, the whole ‘kissing-a-guy-because-I’m-a-hormonal-woman’ thing no longer applied. And that made it all the more thrilling.

They were well into the deep end of the kiss when Giles felt timid hands wading in like a child afraid of the water. It was then he knew something wasn’t right. Abruptly ending the kiss, Giles pried himself out of the embrace and studied the lust-drunk face of his partner.

“Buffy…?”

Xander’s eyes snapped open, locking onto Giles’ long enough to betray his guilt. Shamefacedly, Xander hung his head.

“Xander?” asked Giles.

Xander nodded his head without looking up, shuffling his feet nervously.

“Xander! Why didn’t you tell me it was you before I…before we…?” Giles sputtered to a stop, too flustered to finish what he was saying.

“You caught me by surprise,” said Xander. “How was I supposed to know you were gonna french me?”

“I think you had fair warning. Or were you planning on filling me in on your switch-back post-coitally?” Giles snapped, masking his embarrassment with anger.

“It seemed rude to interrupt,” Xander said flippantly, using humour as a shield. He got a glare from Giles in return, and he decided to trust him with the truth. “I’m sorry, Giles. It’s been a rough few days. You know what happened with me and Spike? Well, it got me doing some serious soul searching, and I think Willow was right—I’ve thought about what it would be like to kiss you…and other guys…for a long time—I just didn’t know why. And then you kissed me, and it felt kind of right, you know?” he asked, shyly. “It wasn’t exactly how I was planning on coming out of the closet, but there you go.”

Giles’ anger wilted in the face of Xander’s confession. He knew it must have taken a great deal of courage to say those words, especially in light of his father’s homophobia. There was an awkward silence as Giles tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t make things worse. In the end, it was Xander who broke the tension.

“So… You and Buffy?” Xander asked, making Giles flinch slightly.

“Yes. Sorry about that, Xander. It just sort of…happened.”

“And about time, too,” said Xander.

“What do you mean, ‘about time’?” asked Giles, crossing his arms.

“Nothing—I’m just glad the Buffster finally found someone worthy. That’s all.”

Giles got the distinct impression that Xander meant no such thing, but he decided to let it drop.

“Where’s Anya?” asked Xander, quickly changing the subject.

“Anya? She called me at home. Said she wasn’t feeling well and asked for the day off,” said Giles.

“Tell me the truth, Giles—should I be worried about possible vengeance?”

Giles hesitated, thinking that if he were in Xander’s shoes he’d be running for the hills right now. “Worried? No, I wouldn’t be worried. Anya’s a perfectly…sensible ex-demon. Besides, technically she’d already broken up with you.”

“That’s what I said,” Xander said, emphatically. “Then she pulled that old ‘well-it-didn’t-take-you-long-to-find-someone-else’ thing on me and dragged me deep into the guilt zone.”

“On second thought,” Giles said, “now might be a good time to visit relatives. Distant relatives.”

 

 

Buffy and Willow arrived a short while later, breathless and buzzing with energy. Buffy ran straight over to Giles and hugged him fiercely.

“Ow! Buffy…ow!” Giles groaned under her powerful grip. She shut him up with an equally fierce kiss.

Willow stared, her jaw practically unhinged at the unexpected sight. She turned her eyes to Xander who simply shrugged.

“Don’t look at me—I had no idea,” he said, thinking it might be best if no one ever found out about his kiss with Giles.

Giles finally managed to free himself from Buffy’s embrace. “So I assume we’re no longer keeping it a secret?” he asked with a little smirk.

“Oops,” said Buffy. “Guess I kind of blew it, huh Giles.”

“It’s okay,” Willow answered for him, clearly happy with the match now that she was over the shock. “I mean…I won’t tell anyone, if you don’t want anyone else to know.”

“To know what?” said Riley as he entered the store, accompanied by the tingling of the bell over the door. 

“Nothing—there’s no secrets here,” Willow back-pedalled gracelessly.

“Riley, what are you doing here?” asked Buffy.

Riley didn’t answer. He didn’t even look in her direction. He had his attention firmly focused on Xander, and he headed straight over to him.

“I can do this,” he said, steeling himself, as he brusquely grabbed Xander by the shoulders. With obvious distaste, he gave Xander a stiff, hasty kiss on the lips, and then pulled back, looking immensely proud of himself.

Across the room Buffy crossed her arms and scowled at him. “Riley, what do you think you’re doing?” she asked hotly.

“Having a private moment with my girlfriend, if that’s alright with you,” Riley said dismissively, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as if trying to erase all traces of the kiss.

“Well it’s not alright with me,” said Giles in a menacing tone that took them all by surprise. With a menacing glower to match, Giles advanced on Riley until he was face to face with the younger man.

“Giles…” warned Buffy, knowing Riley was likely to lose his temper if he was pushed.

Ignoring her, Giles addressed Riley, colouring his words with a hint of threat. “You have no right to come marching back into Buffy’s life like this. Where were you when she needed you the most? You can’t expect her to come back to you—to trust you again—when you let something as petty as outward appearances stand between you.”

“That’s right,” Xander added. “And anyways, I’m in love with Giles now. At least I know his skin doesn’t crawl when he kisses me.”

Buffy didn’t know whether she wanted to go over and smack him or to break into laughter. It was just about the funniest thing she’d ever seen—Riley fighting with Giles over Xander. She decided to sit back and enjoy the show.

“I can’t believe this!” Riley said, his face turning volcanic red, ready to blow. He shot evil looks at Giles and Xander. “I’m out of the picture for a few days and you hook up with Giles?!”

Giles managed to keep a straight face, made even more difficult by the sound of suppressed giggles coming from Buffy and Willow behind him. “I love Buffy with my very soul; no matter what, I’ll always be there for her. You say you love her, but you can barely look at her without squirming. Go home. Cut your losses and move on—I think we both know that’s what you really want to do.”

Riley kept up his tough guy act a little longer, but Giles had pretty much nailed it. Here was a chance to get out and still play the injured party. He took another long look at Xander and honestly couldn’t see himself kissing those lips again. Ever.

“If you’d rather be with a worn-out shop keeper than me, you’re welcome to him. But when you get tired of your rebound guy, I won’t be waiting to take you back,” said Riley.

“Giles was never a rebound guy,” said Xander, sliding up next to Giles and wrapping his arms around his waist. “He was there long before you showed up, and he’ll be here long after you’re gone. Right Giles?” he asked, gazing up into Giles’ eyes with enough sweetness to cause tooth decay.

“Until the day I die,” he replied earnestly. Behind him Willow sighed dramatically and Buffy rolled her eyes (although, secretly, she was melting with his words).

Riley shrugged as if to say ‘it’s your funeral’. He turned and left the store, happy bells jingling as the door closed behind him.

Buffy came up to Giles and Xander retreated, giving them some space.

“Did you mean what you said?” she asked.

“Every word,” he answered, bending down to give her a kiss to prove it.

Xander headed to the back door, hoping to make a clean escape, but Willow caught up with him.

“Where you going?” she asked.

“I’ve got some unfinished business to take care of,” he said.

“With Spike?” asked Willow with a sly grin.

Xander simply smiled and snuck quietly out the back door.


	9. Epilogue

Spike had finally got “Passions” to come through clearly on his jury-rigged television and was settling down with a nice mug of blood to watch it, when the door of his crypt banged open. Spike mumbled some choice curses when Xander’s silhouette appeared in the doorway, framed by deadly sunlight.

“Buffy—to what do I owe the displeasure?” Spike asked, resignedly putting down his cup of O positive. “No—let me guess—this is about Xander, isn’t it?”

Xander closed the door; it took a second for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, but before he could pinpoint where Spike’s voice had come from, Spike was already right in his face.

“I know what you’re gonna say, but it’s not like that. Not that I give a flying toss what you think—‘cause frankly it’s none of your business,” Spike said indignantly. He was just getting started: “And it’s not like you’ve got anything to worry about—chip, remember? I couldn’t hurt the boy even if I wanted to…which I don’t,” he added quickly. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Hell, I don’t much understand it myself—but so help me I love the little twerp.” Spike stood his ground, his jaw muscles bunching and his fists clenched in case she decided to make something of it.

“Are you finished?” asked Xander patiently.

“Yeh. That about covers it,” said Spike.

“So…you’re telling me you’re in love?” asked Xander, fighting to keep his voice neutral.

“Yeah, I suppose I am. You got a problem with that?” said Spike defensively.

“No,” said Xander with a little smile. “Actually, I’m all good with that.” Xander clasped his hands to either side of Spike’s face and was about to kiss him, but Spike slapped his hands away.

“Here—you takin’ the piss?” he said.

“Spike, you doof, it’s me…Xander.”

Spike eyed him suspiciously. “Xander…not Buffy?”

“It’s me, inside and out,” he replied. “You’re not disappointed, are you?” he asked, a little worried. He hadn’t considered the possibility that the new Xander packaging might not appeal to Spike.

Spike rolled his eyes and grabbed Xander by the belt, drawing him closer. “Now why would I be disappointed?”

“I thought… When this all started, I thought it was Buffy you wanted,” Xander said quietly.

“’Course it was. But things changed—now I want you,” said Spike as if Xander was a few bricks short of a load. “And just think—I get to be the very first man to kiss those lips.”

Xander hesitated; debating whether or not he should tell him he’d already been kissed by Giles and Riley. The spark of lust in Spike’s eyes made the decision for him, and the moment the vampire’s lips touched his, he knew he’d made the right choice.

It was like starting all over again, but it was also like coming home. Spike’s kiss ignited totally new sensations in him, yet at the same time, everything about it was familiar. His hands slid over Spike’s marble-cold chest—drawn along the same muscular contours he’d felt before—but under his own hands, the skin seemed smoother somehow. It was different, too, looking into those incredibly blue eyes without having to crane his neck. But most importantly, when Spike’s cool hand slipped into his pants and fisted his burning erection for the first time, Xander wanted to weep at the achingly familiar sensation. Familiar because he’d imagined how it would feel for as long as he could remember.

Spike led him like a dog on a leash over to his favourite chair and gently sat him down in it. With a few seconds’ manoeuvring, he had Xander’s pants off and was kneeling between his knees.

Xander looked down at the blond head, studied the chiselled cheekbones and pouty lips, and imagined how amazing those pouty lips were going to feel around his cock. With that image flashing through his mind in large 3-d graphics, Xander lost control like some pubescent teenager and shot his load before Spike could even get started.

Spike looked up at him—scarred eyebrow arched—looking supremely pleased with himself.

“Sorry,” said Xander sheepishly.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” Spike said, trying his best not to sound disappointed. “There’ll be plenty of time to try again. That is, unless you’ve got somewhere else you’ve got to be.”

Xander gave a half-laugh. “Actually…since Buffy got me kicked out of my place, and Anya’s not likely to let me back into her apartment, I guess there really isn’t anywhere for me to go. Hey…you wouldn’t happen to know of any damp, gloomy crypts that have a vacancy, would ya?”

Spike couldn’t believe what he was getting himself into, but he found himself saying: “Yeah—I can think of a place. So long as you promise never to interrupt “Passions” again.”

Xander grinned from ear to ear and sized up the place. It wasn’t great, but with a little bit of redecorating, he could live with it.


End file.
